


South of your shoulder and west of your spine

by rydia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emetophobia, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Friends With Benefits, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: It's just sex, says Sylvain.For Felix, it is very decidedly not just sex. He knows this just as much as he knows Sylvain won't or can't offer any more of himself. He knows this even before he starts coughing up flowers.And to think, he callsSylvainan idiot.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 103
Kudos: 1006





	1. Daisies and camellias

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for emetophobia/general descriptions of the physical aspects of hanahaki.

**Daisy (innocence)**

Felix Fraldarius is standing on muddy ground. Last night there had been heavy rain, and then today there had been a battle. What used to be a field full of flowers and grass has been trampled into mud by the long struggle of soldiers and horses.

He glances down, over his armour stained with blood and mud. The head of a small, white flower pokes out from under one of his feet, crushed like so many had been today. Dead like so many people.

It had mostly been a battle like countless others since this war had broken out. The Empire controlled Faerghus dukedom fighting against the rebellion that opposed them.

What had been different was the feeling among the rebellion troops.

This is the first battle they’ve fought since the news had spread about Dimitri being executed in Fhirdiad, on some ridiculous, untrue charge of murdering his uncle. Felix can see the difference it made; the anger and aggression directed towards the Empire reaching new heights. The rebellion had an edge today, taking their revenge for the loss of their prince out on the soldiers they’d encountered. But while they might have won this battle, spurred on by a need for vengeance, they are still losing the war.

Felix brings his free hand up to brush some sweaty, matted hair out of his face. In his other hand he holds his sword loosely. It’s as filthy as the rest of him.

It has been a long day.

All around him are corpses. Among them, rebellion soldiers move, looting weapons and armour from dead bodies as they search for any survivors from their own side, killing any wearing the colours of the enemy. Not only do they not have the resources to take prisoners alive, but the general view among the rebellion of anyone from Faerghus fighting for the dukedom is that they are traitors, and deserve the inglorious death of having their throat slit after the battle.

Despite the movement of those soldiers, there is a strange kind of stillness over the field, hovering like the dark clouds above that threaten to bring rain down on them at any moment. It’s something that feels familiar to Felix by now. It comes after a battle – when the fighting is done, but the dead are still warm, and the living are exhausted.

He’s aware of all this, and of each and every ache in his body, but he feels strangely detached. There are many things he should be doing and yet he can’t bring himself to move.

His eyes drop to his sword.

Felix takes no real pleasure in killing. He’s become very good at it, but _killing_ is not something to take pride in. No, he’s proud of his strength and skill, and he fights to protect what is important to him. He’ll always want to get stronger.

But.

_But…_

The gentle hand on his shoulder shakes him from his thoughts, but doesn’t startle him, because Felix can tell immediately that it’s Sylvain without even looking.

He raises his eyes to meet the pained gaze of his friend. There’s something empty in Sylvain’s face that Felix thinks might be reflected on his own. Sylvain is filthy and obviously tired, but as Felix runs his eye over him, he's relieved to note that he looks uninjured.

He blinks his dry and scratchy eyes. “Ingrid?”

Sylvain’s mouth twists slightly upwards like that’s all he can manage to imitate of a smile. It’s little more than a grimace, but it’s enough to let Felix know the answer before he speaks. “She’s fine, already back at camp.”

A jerky nod is the only reply Felix gives before his eyes drop down again, to his feet and that dying flower.

“Felix.” Sylvain’s voice is soft and caring. Too gentle for where they are, and something about it pierces through Felix, to the very centre of him. It makes him want to lean into Sylvain, to rest his head against his shoulder.

And that makes him angry.

He shakes off Sylvain’s hand and brushes past him. “Let’s go,” he snaps, taking off across the battlefield as fast as he can. It’s not fast enough, of course, not when he has to pick his way over the dead and dying, his stomach churning at the sight and smell of it all.

Sylvain follows, right behind him.

.

Lying in a wooden tub in his large tent later, soaking his aches away, Felix still feels detached. His head falls back over the side of the tub, wet hair dripping and making puddles on the ground.

The water is going cold; he really should get out. Get dressed. Put back on his armour because they could be attacked at any second. Be prepared. Make sure his sword is clean and sharp. Write an update to send to his father. Talk to the scouts.

His head snaps up as someone enters, but it’s just Sylvain, who saunters in looking far less haunted than he had several hours ago.

He grins wolfishly at Felix. “Want me to scrub your back?”

Letting his head drop backwards again, Felix sighs, not in the mood. “Go away.”

Sylvain grabs a stool and pulls it up beside the tub, sitting near Felix’s head, staring at him with an inscrutable expression. “You seemed a little out of it earlier, I just wanted to check you were okay.”

Felix closes his eyes. “I am. Leave me alone.”

“Felix.”

“ _What_?”

Sylvain’s voice takes on that gentle softness again, and Felix hates how much he _doesn't_ hate it. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about His Highness, but–“

Abruptly, Felix rears up, splashing water everywhere as he rises to level his face with Sylvain’s. “No, I don’t. So shut up.”

A flicker of annoyance crosses Sylvain’s expression. _Good_ , Felix thinks. Get annoyed. Go away. But then the anger drains away, leaving only something mournful behind that makes something inside Felix twist uncomfortably.

“What if I want to talk about him, Felix?”

“Go talk to Ingrid, then.” Felix looks away, eyes casting about for his towel, for anything to focus on but Sylvain’s face.

“Felix.”

_Stop saying my name like that._

Like he had earlier on the battlefield, Sylvain gently places his hand on Felix’s shoulder. Except this time Sylvain wears no gauntlet, and Felix is wearing nothing at all. His warm hand is touching bare, damp skin, and it sends a shockwave through Felix, breaking through the fog he’d been in since the battle. No longer at all detached, Felix turns with wide eyes to Sylvain, who also seems a little off-balance.

Felix can feel each press of Sylvain’s fingers against his skin, the spread of his large palm. His thumb strokes across Felix’s clavicle and for a moment Felix feels like how he did that time they went sledding, a lifetime ago when they were children and light and happy and no one was dead, and he’d gone down one of the steepest, snowy hills in Gautier territory at high speed and his stomach had rushed up to his throat in the most exhilarating way.

Fingers press harder into him, and Sylvain leans closer. Felix shivers, both from the cold air on his wet skin, and from the sensations of Sylvain’s touch, seeming more intimate than the countless times he’s ever touched him before. Shifting and sloshing water, Felix turns to face Sylvain more fully, anger conflicting with a rush of what he can recognise as desire, terrifying and exhilarating in how strong it is, like he's heading ever faster down that hill.

Sylvain smells good. Clean, having obviously just come from a bath himself. His red hair is still a little wet, leaving the collar of his shirt damp. There’s nothing about Sylvain that indicates that just hours ago he’d been on a battlefield, cutting down enemies with the Lance of Ruin, the glow of the relic dulled by all the blood and flesh it had torn through.

Nothing to indicate it except, perhaps, that slightly glassy look in his eyes and the appearance of new scars on his skin that magic can’t heal. And then there are the scars carved on the inside, that one one can see, that no amount of magic can ever help. Felix is familiar with those too.

He looks away, shrugging off Sylvain’s hand far easier than he can shrug off all the complicated feelings he has for the man himself.

“Hey, Felix, c’mon.”

Shoulders hunched, Felix narrows his eyes at the side of his large, comfortable tent; the perk of being a Duke’s son. Suddenly he feels ridiculous, sitting in this tub like a _child_. “Pass me that towel,” he orders, jerking his head in the direction of it.

Sighing, Sylvain does as demanded, bringing Felix the towel before turning away to give him some privacy. Felix rises out of the bath, water running down his body as he steps out and wraps the towel around his waist, staring at the hard, tense line of Sylvain’s shoulders the entire time.

“I keep thinking we should have looked for him more. We shouldn't have stopped.” Sylvain’s voice is quiet, barely a whisper, but he might as well have been screaming in Felix’s ears.

Felix squeezes his eyes shut. He keeps thinking the same thing. “Shut up.”

“But we thought he was with the Professor, so he must be safe, because the Professor could survive anything. Remember when Ashe said that?”

“ _Stop_.”

“But she has to be dead too, doesn’t she?” Sylvain’s shoulders slump, his head falling forward. “She’s probably been dead since Garreg Mach, and now His Highness is dead too and we’re fighting this war we can’t win.”

“Please, Sylvain, _stop_.” Felix is shaking; with anger or grief, he’s not quite sure. Both, probably. He doesn't care if he agrees with Sylvain, he needs to _shut up_.

Grief keeps spilling out of Sylvain. “I miss him, Felix. I miss Dima.”

The use of the nickname – a nickname Felix hasn’t heard Sylvain use in _years_ – sets off something ugly in him and he marches up and shoves his back, hard. Sylvain stumbles, taken by surprise but with quick enough reflexes to recover quickly. He spins around, frowning.

“Felix, what the f–“

“Shut up,” Felix snarls. “ _Stop talking._ ” He steps forward, attempting to shove Sylvain again, but this time he’s ready for it and grabs both of Felix’s wrists, holding on tight when Felix tries to wrench himself away. “He’s been dead for years. You’re mourning a boar, wh–“

“No!” Sylvain shouts, cutting Felix off and surprising him. Sylvain never raises his voice at him. “I’m not going to let you say that. Not now, not yet. I know you care, so stop acting like you don’t!”

Finally breaking free of Sylvain’s grip, Felix all but snarls at him and he turns to leave, to get away from this before he realises that all he’s wearing is a towel and his hair is still dripping wet, and he can hardly go storming through the camp like this.

“Just get out, Sylvain,” he settles on saying, a bitter edge to his voice. He stalks over to his armour, glaring down at it, waiting to hear Sylvain leave so he could get dressed.

But Sylvain doesn’t leave, and Felix, even with his back to him, can feel the anger rolling off him. It makes his stomach tighten unpleasantly. Sylvain doesn’t get _angry_ with him – Sylvain smiles and cajoles when Felix gets prickly. Laughs it off. Sometimes he gives Felix that wounded, pouting expression, at most he gets a bit impatient, but he doesn’t get angry and shout. No matter what Felix says.

“Have you even spoken to Ingrid about him?” It’s obviously a question Sylvain already knows the answer to because he doesn’t pause to wait for a response. “You know she’s devastated, right? Do you even care?”

Felix bristles. “You _know_ I care.”

“Maybe I’m beginning to wonder about that,” Sylvain responds shortly, stepping closer, and just as Felix is going to demand he leaves, Sylvain places a hand on his upper arm again, his warm touch at odds with his cold voice.

Felix turns to glare at him and shake off his touch, except Sylvain moves with him, hand still on his arm, so close that Felix is impossibly distracted and annoyed. He blinks, looking up into Sylvain’s frowning face and realises that he hates seeing this expression on his face. He hates having to think about Dimitri and this war and and his father and how fucked up everything is. He hates these feelings he has for his best friend that he doesn’t know what to do with, especially not when said best friend keeps touching him.

In a fit of irritation at it all, Felix grabs the collar of Sylvain’s shirt and yanks him down closer; pleased to see his annoyed expression morph into one of surprise.

And then Felix kisses him.

Sylvain jolts and Felix freezes, suddenly aware with a terrible clarity of what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with. But just as he’s about to pull away, Sylvain responds quickly, the hand on his arm tightening and the other sliding across the bare skin of his back. Felix finds himself tilted backwards slightly as Sylvain deepens the kiss.

It quickly turns bruising, in the best way. Punishing, almost, as they both take out their frustrations on each other. Felix, too aware that he’s basically naked, too pent up and impatient to think about consequences, claws at Sylvain’s shirt, detaching himself from the kiss long enough to pull the garment off before greedily exploring the newly exposed skin with his hands. Sylvain slides both his hands into Felix’s hair to kiss him again, stepping backwards and bringing Felix with him.

Sylvain controls the kiss, stroking his tongue against Felix’s, hand cupping his cheek to angle his face just right. And Felix allows himself to be overwhelmed by Sylvain, suddenly finding himself horizontal, not even recalling how he’s ended up on his bedroll, the entire length of Sylvain’s body pressed against his.

Sylvain’s lips move to his neck, sucking and biting as his hands trail down Felix’s body. The towel is pushed away, and when Sylvain takes Felix’s cock in a firm grip, they both groan. Felix tips his head back, eyes falling shut, lost in the feel of Sylvain stroking him in a way he'd never let himself imagine.

When the incredible movement stops, he jerks his head up in annoyance, glaring at Sylvain who has a conflicted expression on his face.

“Why did you stop?” Felix asks, a slightly desperate tint to his voice.

“Are you sure you–“

Incredulous and frustrated, Felix interrupts him, each word firing out of his mouth like an arrow let loose from a bow. “Are you _serious_? Of course I’m sure. You’d think _you_ of all people would know.”

There’s a shift in Sylvain at those words. He goes very still for a second, and then his expression smooths out and he smiles.

It’s fake. It’s one Felix has seen Sylvain give to countless people; it’s a smile that promises pleasure, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not something Felix is accustomed to having directed at himself.

And Felix realises what his words sounded like; a snipe at Sylvain’s insatiability, his sexual conquests, and the long trail of furious men and women he’d taken to bed, had his way with, and then broken their hearts or treated them terribly, smiling insincerely all the time.

Except that’s not what Felix had meant. Even angry as he may be, that was never what he meant. He just meant that Sylvain, who knew Felix so well, must know how much he wants this. Felix thought it must be obvious. It must have been obvious for _years_.

“Sylvain, I–“

The hand on Felix’s cock starts moving again, faster, gripping tighter, robbing Felix of the ability to form words and his explanation goes unsaid. At the same time, Sylvain leans down again to capture his lips, kissing Felix senseless as he thrusts his tongue in his mouth in time to the strokes of his hand and it’s not long before Felix is writhing underneath him.

The hand disappears from his cock, making Felix whine into Sylvain’s mouth, who pulls away with dark laugh.

“You look so good like this, Felix.” Sylvain leans back down to press a kiss to his throat, making his next words rumble through Felix. “Naked. Needy.” His kisses trail down Felix’s body, and now Sylvain moves quickly, not giving Felix any time to realise what he’s doing before he sucks the head of his cock into his mouth.

Felix cries out – loudly, unable to keep it in, overwhelmed by the hot wetness of Sylvain’s mouth, the feel of his tongue teasing him. But it’s too loud for where they are, and Sylvain – still with his mouth on Felix – reaches up to place a hand over the younger man’s mouth, muffling his moans.

Felix knows he should be annoyed about that, but Sylvain’s head moves further down his cock, eliminating any thought that doesn’t revolve around how good this feels. One of his hands curls around the arm against his mouth, while the other winds into Sylvain’s hair, trying and failing not to grip too tightly and Felix is lost, so lost, as Sylvain swallows him down eagerly.

It doesn’t take long before he’s seeing stars and coming hard down Sylvain’s throat. Felix is still panting when Sylvain rises to his knees, a smug glint in his eyes.

“You really do look good like this,” he says with satisfaction, voice rough.

Felix stares up at the top of his tent, quickly beginning to feel chilled as the sweat on his skin goes cold. He’s going to need another bath. He blinks as Sylvain stands, pulling himself up onto his elbows with effort to watch him run a hand through his hair.

“Where are you going?”

“I think it’s best if I get back to my own tent before rumours start to spread. And they will. Who knew you’d moan like _that_?”

Felix flushes, annoyed. He watches as Sylvain throws on his shirt and then notices the tent in his pants and his breath catches.

“What about you?” His low voice makes Sylvain pause and Felix tilts his head at his obvious erection.

“No worries, I can take care of that myself.” Sylvain is smiling but something about it bothers Felix, and he’s immediately tense again, any post orgasmic bliss lost.

Sitting up properly, he frowns, suddenly insulted. “Why? Am I not up to your usual standards?”

Sylvain barks out an incredulous laugh. “ _Believe_ me, that’s not it. Next time, Felix, you can return the favour.”

Felix stands, feeling out of his depth in this conversation and hating it. He casts around for his clothes, awkward and fumbling slightly as he pulls on some pants. When he looks up, Sylvain is watching him with a heavy lidded expression.

“Next time?” He finally asks, uncertain.

This time, Sylvain’s laugh sounds even more incredulous. “Sparring isn’t the only way to blow off steam. And I’m far better at this than I am at sparring.” Sylvain’s eyes rake up Felix’s body, in a way Felix has seen him do to plenty of people in the past. But never him, not before today. He isn’t sure how he feels about it. He doesn’t want Sylvain to treat him like he treats everyone else. But he _wants_ Sylvain.

Sylvain steps closer and Felix lets him tilt his chin up. “Only if you want to, of course. No hard feelings if you don’t. Well–“ Sylvain leers at him and palms his still hard dick with his other hand and Felix watches the movement, transfixed, brain still running to catch up with what’s happening. “Just this. But I’ll get over it. So.” He tightens his hold on Felix’s chin slightly to catch his gaze again. His thumb brushes over his lips, and they part under the touch. “Think about it.”

“Yes,” Felix says immediately. He _should_ probably think about it, but he’s not going to. To say no to Sylvain touching him like he’s always wanted but never let himself imagine is unfathomable.

Raising his eyebrows, Sylvain looks at him quizzically. “ _Yes_?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Felix’s reply is scathing.

“Just like that?” Sylvain is searching his face for something, but Felix has no idea what it is. “It’s… it’s just sex, Felix, you know that?”

Jerking his head out of Sylvain’s hand, Felix steps back to glare up at him. “I’m aware.” Really, what Felix is aware of is that he’s painfully out of his depth. But he’s not going to back down.

“Well. Alright.” He steps forward into Felix’s space again. “How about a kiss to seal the deal?”

Felix can only nod dumbly in reply because all he can think is _yes, goddess, please kiss me again_ , and that’s far too embarrassing to say out loud. And then Sylvain cradles his face and presses his lips to Felix’s. Felix savours it – every sensation, from Sylvain’s hand sliding up his back, to the taste of his mouth, the press of Sylvain’s erection into his stomach, to the shaky breath he releases when they finally separate.

Felix finds himself reluctant to let go, but he does, blinking up at Sylvain as he catches his breath, trying not to wonder what would happen if slid his hand into Sylvain’s pants. Would it make him stay?

Sylvain runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “ _Fuck_ , Felix, I’m supposed to be leaving.”

 _Stay_ , Felix thinks, and then chases the thought away. His chest tightens, and he turns away, lifting a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “So leave.”

A beat of silence, and then the noise of movement. “Right. Goodnight, Felix.”

He hears Sylvain move towards the entrance and anxiety flares in his stomach. Turning back, Felix admires the broad sweep of Sylvain’s shoulders, and takes a deep breath.

“Sylvain?”

Sylvain stops and glances back. “Yeah?”

“We’re still…” Felix’s mouth goes dry as he remembers what Sylvain had looked like between his legs with his cock in his mouth. _Fuck_. “We’re still friends?” He hunches slightly as he asks, able to hear all too clearly the vulnerability in his voice.

Sylvain’s expression softens. “Of course we are. Always.” And then he smiles lasciviously, tilting his head. “There’s just added benefits now. Don’t overthink it.”

And then he’s gone and Felix is left with a lot to process.

 _Don’t overthink it_ , Sylvain had said.

Fat chance.

What an idiot he is.

What idiots they both are.

.

Three nights later, somewhere south of Fhirdiad after another battle, Sylvain finds his way back into Felix’s tent, and this time Felix shoves _him_ onto the bedroll and explores his body with his hands and mouth, pressing short nails into skin, peppering biting kisses down the hard expanse of Sylvain’s chest. When he takes Sylvain’s cock in his mouth, the low, desperate hiss it wrangles from him is music to Felix’s ears.

And that’s how it begins; with hurried kissed and touches in tents, separated from the outside world by only a scrap of fabric, blissful moments that Felix relishes, because in those moments Sylvain is his and no one else’s. The fact that when Sylvain touches him everything else ceases to exist and he doesn’t have to think is is a bonus.

No one else seems to notice, not even Ingrid. Outwardly, nothing has changed. And why should it? Sylvain had been and remains clear – this is just sex. Outside of those visits made under the cover of darkness to Felix’s tent, their friendship remains exactly the same. Sylvain had been true to his word in that regard, and Felix can at least relax knowing his impetuous decision to kiss Sylvain didn't ruin everything. Sylvain still flirts with everything, same as ever. But they’re still friends, first and foremost. Felix clings to that when he’s so uncertain about everything else.

So nothing has changed. Except for Felix, everything has, and sometimes he finds it hard to catch his breath when he thinks about Sylvain, and has the ridiculous notion that his heart might be aching.

.

It’s not just the sex. It’s those precious moments after. Sylvain doesn’t stay long, but quite often they lie tangled up in each other for a while, satiated, and Felix has come to appreciate the comforting feel of bare skin on his. And Sylvain seems less guarded in those moments, less likely to keep up a facade and while Felix suspects he’s still got his other conquests, he feels vindictively proud to know that he’s the only one of them who gets _this_ , because he knows damn well Sylvain never does this with anyone else he sleeps with, murmuring quietly together in the afterglow.

Sylvain knows exactly how to touch people to please them. While Felix had felt like he was fumbling and awkward and slow to learn how to please his partner, Sylvain just seems to _know_. Even afterwards, like when he gently massages Felix’s head that’s resting on his chest, making him feel sleepy and contented – it's like he just had some sixth sense about it.

But even as he's gentle with Felix, Sylvain seems more tense than usual.

“My father wants me to marry,” he eventually says glumly.

Felix stiffens slightly, and then relaxes again at Sylvain’s continuing touch. “That’s nothing new.”

“No, but he’s being pushy, and thinks I should be making an heir as soon as possible, in case I get killed in the war. He’s got a shortlist of, and I quote, “ _desirable females from good breeding stock_ ”.

“Are they women or horses?” Felix snaps, rising up to look Sylvain in the face. He really hates Sylvain’s father.

The hand on his head falls away, and Sylvain chuckles weakly, staring up at nothing. “Beats me.”

“So what are you going to do? This is hardly the time to be getting married.” Felix tries to ignore the pit that opens in him at the thought of Sylvain marrying – even if he knows it’s the last thing Sylvain wants, and that he’ll hate whoever his father forces him to be with.

Sylvain stretches his arms out above him before lowering them to wrap about Felix, who has to resist the strong urge to lean in and cuddle against him. “Oh, just what I’ve always done. _Deflect_. Anyway, he thinks I should marry because of the war, while _I_ think that’s a perfect excuse to not do it. I’m far too busy fighting for the Kingdom and seducing the sons of Dukes for that.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but knows his traitorous face is blushing. Sylvain traces a finger over his warm cheek. “It really is too easy to make you do that,” he says, teasingly.

Felix’s attempt at a glower only makes Sylvain laugh, so he drops his head to rest against Sylvain's chest, fighting the urge to smile even though he pinches him slightly in retaliation for the teasing.

They fall into silence for a few minutes before Sylvain eventually says, very quietly. “I can’t deflect forever.”

Felix tightens his grip on him. _Yes, you can, you can do what you want._

Except that probably isn’t fair. For all of Felix’s problems with his father, an arranged marriage was never one of them. As a second son, it hadn’t been as important, and then, after Glenn died… well, his relationship with Rodrigue deteriorated so badly that perhaps his father didn’t want to make it worse. Felix knew that just as there were plenty of people wanting to marry off their daughters to the Gautier heir with a crest, there were equally as many vying for the Fraldarius heir. But Rodrigue had politely declined all of them and only ever mentioned it in passing to Felix so he’d know why Count Whoever or Lord Who-Gives-A-Damn with the single daughter was short with him when they were at court in Fhirdiard. Not that Felix ever cared about that.

“I’m going to have to marry one of them at some point.”

“No you _don’t_. Marry who you want.” Felix can’t help the irritation seeping into his voice.

Sylvain scoffs, bitterness bleeding through even as he attempts to sound light. “Wouldn’t that be nice? You’re supposed to marry for love, right? Well, I’m never going to fall in love.” He laughs then, _fake_ , and Felix hates it.

Despite being wrapped in the warmth of Sylvain, he suddenly feels very cold.

**Pink camellia (longing)**

Time passes. Months, and then a year, and there’s a solemn acknowledgement of the anniversary of the death of Prince Dimitri. The situation in Faerghus remains the same – the loyal soldiers of the rebellion fight in Dimitri’s memory against the dukedom. Rumours of the prince still being alive linger, but no one is ever able to confirm them. The Alliance ignores their requests for aid, remaining neutral. The Empire bears down, cutting off trade routes, killing anyone suspected of being involved in the rebellion, and does whatever it can to make life difficult for them.

Felix goes for long stretches without seeing Sylvain or Ingrid. The war draws them all apart, and they have their own responsibilities in their territories.

Whenever he is in the same place as Sylvain, his friend always manages to find a way for them to be alone, and has Felix writhing and moaning and coming undone either with his mouth or his hands. And Felix – ever competitive – makes sure to return the favour, even as he wonders if this will ever progress further.

Felix’s life is a cycle of battles. Actual battles, with blade and blood. Battles with other nobles, who want to withdraw their troops, or who might be considering capitulating to the Empire. Battles with his father, because every conversation with his father is a battle. Battles with himself, because he knows this… whatever it is he has with Sylvain isn’t enough. _Just sex_ isn’t enough. But how can he walk away from it, from what is the most he’ll ever have from Sylvain?

.

It’s been three months since Felix has seen Sylvain or Ingrid. They’d fought together at a battle on the edge of Fraldarius territory, sending dukedom troops scurrying back to Fhirdiad. Afterwards, they’d spent a quiet but comforting dinner together, and then Sylvain and Ingrid had left, needed in their lands.

They exchange letters when they can. It’s not always feasible, especially when Felix makes his forays into Empire controlled Faerghus. But it’s something, even though Felix misses Sylvain fiercely. He misses Ingrid too, but it’s not the same as the desperate longing and pressure in his chest that he gets whenever he thinks of Sylvain. It’s too much, those feelings, so he does what he can to shove them away. He is not going to get sentimental. He doesn’t have the time, and it’s pointless, ridiculous. Sylvain is his friend like Ingrid is his friend.

The ache in his chest will go away eventually, maybe when he starts believing the lies he's telling himself.

The newest letter Felix is reading from Sylvain is much like any other. Flirtations and flowery language are dropped in the same sentence as military updates. Much of the letter talks about the northern border – with the troubles in Faerghus, the people of Sreng have seen an opportunity and have been making attacks on holdings in the most northern parts of Gautier territory. Sylvain, with his Lance of Ruin, has been fighting a war on two fronts. Three fronts, if you counted his battle with his father to avoid an arranged marriage.

Felix presses his fist into his chest, a sudden tightness and flare of pain blossoming.

He continues reading, oblivious to the world outside his tent, engrossed in every word.

_“I miss your beautiful face, Felix.”_

It’s the kind of nonsense Sylvain says to everyone. But seeing it written down in his surprisingly neat penmanship makes Felix’s breath catch, a desperate feeling of longing ripping through him to see Sylvain and hear him say those stupid words in his ear before he kisses his way down his throat.

Felix coughs sharply, like he’s swallowed something the wrong way. A searing pain rips through his chest and he coughs again. And again.

He can’t stop.

It’s not long before Felix is doubled over, retching, gasping between coughs as he tries to suck in a breath. He can feel something shift inside his chest, a deeply unsettling and painful sensation, before it’s coming up his throat and he can’t breathe at all –

– and he falls off his chair, onto the hard ground, bile and spit and something else coming up. It feels endless, but it can’t be that long before he vomits, the terrible pressure in his chest finally easing, although he still feels that urge to cough at the back of his throat. He lies on the ground for a while, wheezing and pressing his hands to his now pounding head. It takes some time before he can wrench open his eyes, knowing he’s going to have to deal with an unpleasant mess.

Except when he does look, there’s a pile of pink flower petals strewn across the ground.

Gingerly, Felix pulls himself upright, never taking his eyes off the petals, as if they’re an enemy that can’t be left unwatched.

He can’t comprehend what he’s seeing. The petals are a beautiful shade of pink, although many of them are stained with blood.

Felix brings a hand up to his sore throat, trying to understand how he could possibly have coughed up flowers. A poison of some kind? He wonders if it’s possible he’s eaten something, but then he thinks back on the bland and miserable rations he’s been living off. And what kind of poison would do _this_? Perhaps it's a spell?

In truth, he’s unsettled, and a little scared, and when he swallows, he feels like something is lodged in his throat and he wonders, with an edge of panic, if it’s more petals.

To his dismay, it is, and this time he brings up a whole flower, large and pink. It would be pretty in any other situation, but the sight of it makes Felix feel sick.

When he’s able to move, he shoves all the petals and the flower together before bundling them up in a blanket. When it’s dark he’ll take it outside and dispose of them where no one can see. For now, he just needs to… have them out of his sight. It’s too unsettling.

Returning to his makeshift desk, Felix notices his hands shaking slightly and glares at them, wiling them to be still as he waits and wonders if he’s going to start coughing again.

To his relief, he doesn’t. He even starts to feel better and the tremors go away. There’s nothing stuck in his throat, and the pressure in his chest seems to have gone.

He makes a decision to not go and see one of the healers.

Hopefully this is a one-off freak occurrence. Pressing his hand into his chest, just over his heart, Felix wills it to be so, telling himself that he’s _fine_ and that this _won’t happen again_.

.

He has one more coughing fit that ends with pink flowers strewn across the floor before he next sees Sylvain.

Felix had started at them in dread for a long time before doing what he did before, and disposing of the petals. This time, he does go see a healer, but he doesn’t mention the flowers. The healer checks him over, and proclaims Felix fit and healthy, with no signs of magical corruption, so he thinks he can at least rule out a spell being the cause.

And, like before, he tries to forget about it. He’s not sure what else he can do, because otherwise he feels fine.

At least with everything else going on, it’s easy to be distracted.

But still, it tugs at the back of his mind, becoming front and centre as he tosses and turns at night trying to sleep; another worry, more grief to deal with. Sometimes his chest gets tight and he wonders if he’s imagining it or if he’s going to have another excruciating coughing fit again.

Felix returns home for a time. His father is gone, convinced that Dimitri is still alive and attempting to find him by chasing those rumours that are going around and Felix is… well, Felix is furious about it. He’d arrived back only that morning to find his father in the process of leaving and while it’s not like he enjoys his father’s company, he hates the thought of rattling around the sprawling Fraldarius estate with no company. Especially knowing that his father is off searching for a dead prince.

So he spends the day in the training grounds until his arms are trembling and he feels light headed and still, _still_ he is furious, his thoughts whirling, his frustration at the world not allowing him a second of peace.

When Sylvain arrives, striding into the area, gritty and stained from travel, Felix finally lowers his sword, staring at him, his already elevated heart rate pumping faster at the sight of the man that has consumed his thoughts for months. He rakes in Sylvain’s appearance from head to toe – the slightly longer hair, the shadows under his eyes and… has that bastard gotten even _taller_?

Regardless, Felix is happy to see him, but that makes him feel awkward. His greeting is abrupt. “Why are you here?”

Sylvain blows him a kiss. “Nice to see you too, Felix.”

It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other. Felix doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s missed Sylvain. He’s missed his bruising kisses, the press of his warm skin.

He’s missed his friend.

“You should be in Galatea.” Felix wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, suddenly aware of how sweaty he is.

“Just left. It’s quiet for now and there’s been heavy snow again. There might not be much fighting until spring. And my father has called me home.” Sylvain smiles wide at that last comment, but it’s brittle and cracked, and Felix bristles at the mention of the Margrave.

Felix looks away, turning his attention back to the training dummy. “How’s Ingrid?”

He hears Sylvain shrug behind him. “Same as usual. She wanted to come with me to visit you, but she feels she should be with her family. They’re going to have a hard winter down there.”

When they were children, they rarely visited Ingrid down in Galatea. She always came to them, or they saw her in Fhirdiad. Felix hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but he now knows it’s because there often literally wasn’t enough food to feed guests. He holds in a sigh and says, “I’ll speak to my father about sending some supplies. The Dukedom burned some of our crops to the west but we pushed them back before it could get too bad. We have enough to survive.”

A lot of people are going to starve this winter. Western Faerghus is in chaos. There are people dying on the streets of Fhirdiad. In the east, where the rebellion is strongest, things are slightly better, but the fact still remains that they are too weak to win this war. The brutal Faerghus winter will give both sides a reprieve from fighting but come next spring, Felix wonders if it’ll all end then.

His grip tightens on his sword.

“Ingrid…” Sylvains’ voice is closer now, just behind Felix, and he sounds more hesitant. “She was talking about the millennium festival next year.”

Felix frowns. It takes him a moment to realise what Sylvain is referencing, and then it comes to him – some silly promise made when they were at the monastery. Hardly worth remembering. “Why?”

“She thinks we should go.”

Scoffing, Felix lifts his sword. “Ridiculous.” He begins striking the dummy, ignoring the ache in his overworked shoulders.

When Sylvain reaches out to touch his back, what Felix should do is turn around and knock his hand away with his training sword. But he doesn’t. Instead he falters, feeling the burn of Sylvain’s touch through his clothes, his eyes fluttering closed.

He’s missed this, so much.

And yet while he lowers his sword, Felix can’t bring himself to turn around. Sylvain doesn’t seem to mind, stepping closer so he can wrap his arms around Felix, nuzzling his face into his hair.

“Hey,” Felix protests half-heartedly. “I’m sweaty.”

“Mmmm, I don’t mind.” Sylvain sounds almost drunk in his reply. He leans down to place a kiss against Felix’s neck, tongue tasting his salty skin.

Felix shudders, literally wrapped up in Sylvain. He lets his head fall back, allowing Sylvain to kiss the parts of his neck he can reach. His sword falls to the ground, forgotten.

“Felix. _Felix_.” Sylvain all but moans into his skin. “Can I have you?”

Breaking out of Sylvain’s hold, Felix turns and yanks him down by the hair to kiss him. “Yes,” he says fiercely against his lips. “ _Yes_.”


	2. Yellow hyacinths and agapanthus

**Yellow hyacinth (jealousy)**

Later, Felix wouldn’t remember the journey from the training grounds, through the courtyard into the house and up to his bedroom. He certainly can’t remember if they were seen by anyone, but he can’t bring himself to care.

The next vivid memory he has is being pressed into his bed, Sylvain’s weight on top of him as they both grapple with pulling away armour and clothes, kissing and biting at each newly revealed piece of skin. Felix can feel Sylvain smile into his skin at his impatience when he almost rips his shirt in his haste to get it removed.

Once they’re both naked, Sylvain straddles him, expression intent as he leans forward, sliding his cock against Felix’s. It makes Felix groan and shudder, his hands pressing into Sylvain’s thighs. With a devious smile, Sylvain wraps one of his large hands around both of them, stroking tightly. Felix digs his nails into skin, throwing his head back with a moan and trying desperately to get himself under control. It’s been months since he’s been touched like this and Sylvain is looking at him with a expression that says, _I am going to wreck you_.

Felix can’t say that he minds.

The hands disappear and he feels Sylvain draw back. Rising up onto his elbows, Felix’s eyebrows raise when he’s greeted with the sight of Sylvain leaning over the side of the bed, ass in the air.

It’s not a bad view.

There’s a rustle of fabric and Sylvain shuffles back in between Felix’s legs, a sly look on his face that tells Felix he very purposely stuck his ass in the air for his benefit. In his hands, Sylvain holds a jar of oil. He sets it down to crawl back up Felix’s body to kiss him, tangling a hand in his hair to pull it out of its tie.

Sylvain draws back, frowning as his fingers play with the loose strands that now only skim Felix’s shoulders. “You cut it.”

Felix shrugs as best he can given his position, eyes darting away. “It was getting too long.” It’s not a lie, but not the full truth, either. He’d cut his hair in a fit of anger – at his father, the war, his weird flower thing, _Sylvain_ , all of it – and then regretted it. At least it’s now long enough to tie back again.

“But it was so pretty!” Sylvain laments.

Keeping his face even, Felix asks archly, “Are you suggesting it’s not pretty now?” He’s unable to keep a hint of teasing out of his voice.

Sylvain’s lips twitch at that. “Never.”

Rising up to reach his mouth, Felix kisses him aggressively. Sylvain is panting and grinding against him by the time he pulls away, and Felix growls, “So are you going to fuck me now or make me wait longer?” His words are brash, an attempt to cover up his racing heart and flickering nerves.

“Oh,” Sylvain huffs, catching his breath before grinning down at him. “You know it, sweetheart.”

Felix stills. “Don’t call me that,” he says, a warning in his voice.

Sylvain hardly misses a beat at that, simply raising his eyebrows and letting his mouth curl into a seductive smile as he grabs the jar and opens it, sticking his fingers in the oil in what must have been a purposely lewd way. “Not a fan of pet names?”

“No,” he responds shortly. Felix has heard Sylvain call too many people _babe_ and _sweetheart_ and _darling_ and every other disgusting, saccharine nickname imaginable to ever want to hear those names directed at him. Sylvain has made it clear that this is just sex to him, but Felix wants to make sure it’s _his_ name that Sylvain is moaning. He’s not going to let him forget who he’s with, even if tomorrow he’s off fucking someone else. Even if the thought of Sylvain fucking someone else makes his stomach roll and his chest tighten in a way that is too like it had when he’d brought up those flower petals.

But then Sylvain is touching him, pushing all those unpleasant thoughts away. His oiled fingers stroke down Felix’s cock lightly, making him shudder.

Sylvain’s grin widens. “We’re pretty far away from everyone here, aren’t we? You can be as loud as you like.”

“What an ego,” Felix scoffs. “You’re barely even touching me.” Despite his words, his hands twist into the sheets under him and his hips buck up, seeking more.

“Well, if you’re so _desperate_ …” Sylvain ignores Felix’s quickly sharpening glare, giving him a quick pump before slathering more oil on his hand. He reaches down to slide a finger inside Felix, who automatically tenses up at the intrusion, not entirely sure what to make of it.

Sylvain leans down to press a kiss behind his ear. “Relax. I’ll take care of you.” He pulls back to meet Felix’s gaze with a warm smile; sincere and blinding, far more arousing than his practiced seductive looks, before he focuses again on what he’s doing.

Slowly, so slowly, he works Felix open, occasionally drawing him into a kiss to distract him and other times pressing his lips into Felix’s neck and shoulder biting down in that way he knows Felix loves.

And at some point, for Felix, it stops feeling strange and starts feeling _good_ , and when Sylvain’s fingers curl and brush against a certain spot, he arches up with a loud cry, his neglected cock weeping to be touched.

“Good?” Sylvain asks smugly, already knowing the answer.

It’s enough to make Felix narrow his eyes at him and quickly reach between his legs to grab Sylvain’s cock, making his hips stutter forward. Sylvain moans as Felix starts to stroke him.

“ _Good_?” He mimics, mockingly.

Sylvain adds another finger and again curls them inside Felix, huffing out a laugh when he gasps and shudders, the movement of his hand on Sylvain’s cock coming to a halt.

“Syl– _vain_!” Another purposeful movement of those fingers has Felix losing his composure. “Fuck me,” he moans, having enough of this teasing.

As he removes his fingers, Sylvain kisses him aggressively, drawing Felix’s legs around himself as he eases his cock inside. It’s so gentle, such a contrast to the way he’s kissing him, that Felix can only hold on to Sylvain’s back, hardly able to return the kiss from feeling overwhelmed. But as he adjusts to the sensation of Sylvain filling him, quicker than he expects, he grows impatient.

“Move,” he orders, digging his nails into taunt skin.

Sylvain drops his head into Felix’s shoulder, groaning, but keeps still and Felix, desperate for more, snaps his hips up roughly, taking all of Sylvain’s length inside him.

An incomprehensible garble leaves Syvlain’s mouth that sounds something like “ _feluufffsghh_ ,” but Felix can’t pay it much mind as he hisses in a sharp breath at the delicious feeling of fullness and he shudders and gasps, body sprung like a coil.

After a moment, Sylvain lifts his head. His face is flushed, and when he speaks his voice is strained. “You okay?”

Glaring at him, Felix slides his hands down to palm Sylvain’s ass roughly. “Yes. _Move_.” He squeaks slightly as Sylvain’s hips jerk into him.

Sylvain rises onto his knees, positioning Felix better with a wide grin and open expression that makes Felix’s heart stutter.

He has to close his eyes against it.

Finally, _finally_ , Sylvain starts moving, slow at first, to Felix’s annoyance, but quickly picking up the pace until Felix can hardly catch his breathe, eyes flickering open for a few seconds before he has to close them again, because looking at Sylvain is looking at the sun. They’re both drenched in sweat, and Sylvain is still wearing that genuine expression, lost in his pleasure, but he keeps his eyes open and on Felix’s face the whole time. Despite the frenetic pace Sylvain is setting, Felix feels like he’s watching in slow motion, and everything that isn’t Sylvain is just a haze. He blinks and the tendons in Sylvain’s arms come into focus, flexing as he braces against the bed and reaches between them to take Felix’s cock in hand, stroking roughly. Felix’s loses track of everything for a spell as he climbs sharply to his peak, but then his eyes flicker and then they’re back on Sylvain’s face, as flushed as surely his own is, mouth open and spilling out Felix’s name – his _name_ – among his groans and _you feel so good, so good_.

Felix reaches up to wrap a hand around the back of Sylvain’s neck, anchoring himself to him as their eyes meet, and something blooms in him just as he tightens, so close to release. It’s knowledge, an unknowable certainty, a joy and a despair, because he loves Sylvain. He’s desperately in love in with him and he’s in some fucked up friends with benefits situation. With _Sylvain_. His best friend. Who he loves.

“ _Fuck_!” Whether it’s the realisation or a particularly hard thrust by Sylvain that brushes against that spot that makes him cry out so loudly, Felix won’t ever be sure about, and really, won’t ever want to think about.

Tears prick the edges of his eyes and he squeezes them shut, denying it. He’s not crying. _He’s not crying_.

“Felix.” The way Sylvain groans out his name will be Felix’s undoing.

The entire world whites out like Fraldarius in a heavy snowstorm. There’s even the same kind of blanketed quiet as Felix arches, throwing his head back in a silent scream as he comes, eyes clenched shut, Sylvain still moving and stroking him through it all, as waves of hot pleasure crash over him.

He comes back to himself to watch through heavy eyes as Sylvain comes undone above him.

Sylvain is beautiful, always, but it’s something special to watch him come; the way his mouth falls open and his head drops forward. The way his hips stutter and his composure and carefully built facades crumble completely, just for a few seconds, as he trembles and moans.

As he moans Felix’s name.

Sylvain collapses on him, obviously not bothered about the sticky mess that Felix own release has left over both of them.

The world comes back into focus, but it’s quiet. The only sound apart from their panting breaths is the crackling of the fire and the soft, sheeting sound of rain against the windows.

Sylvain lies on Felix like he wants to melt into him, and Felix can appreciate the feeling. He runs his hands up and down Sylvain’s back, over muscles and scars, momentarily content despite knowing that he’s in love with a man who’ll never return it. But this, right now, is enough, even if he knows at some point it’s probably all going to come crashing down around his ears.

After a while Sylvain rolls off Felix slightly, but still stays curled up against him. Felix knows he should move and clean up because he’s covered in his own release, while Sylvain’s is sliding down the inside of his thighs, and it’s soon going to be very uncomfortable. But he’s reluctant to let this moment go.

Unfortunately, what interrupts it is the sound of Sylvain’s stomach rumbling loudly.

“When did you last eat?”

“Ah,” Sylvain glances out the window at the darkening sky. “Sunrise?”

Felix huffs, and shoves him off. “Get up. You need to take better care of yourself.” He swings his legs around the side of the bed and stands, a little more wobbly than he’d like to admit. “Dinner should be soon.”

“Aw, Felix, you really do care.”

Felix keeps his back to Sylvain as he throws on enough clothes to keep himself decent enough to get to the bathhouse, feeling a tightness across his back and a lump in his throat.

“Shut up and get dressed. We’re going to the bathhouse first. You’re disgusting..”

Sylvain laughs. “Coming from someone with my seed still sliding down their legs, but alright.”

Felix turns, halfway through pulling on a shirt to glare fiercely at Sylvain, who’s already moving and tying his pants, his eyes on Felix.

“It’s a good look.” Sylvain’s voice drops to that gravelly tone he uses in bed. “Something I’ll remember when I’m in my lonely bedroll on the road.” Then he winks at Felix and saunters out of the room, leaving the younger man red and spluttering behind him.

.

They quickly wash, both too hungry to even consider fooling around at the bathhouse. But Felix enjoys it. Sylvain seems relaxed, and keeps looking at Felix with that fond expression, and there’s a tiny part of him that wonders, perhaps, if Sylvain might feel the same way he does. If it isn’t completely ridiculous for him to maybe hope.

.

Dinner quickly corrects that misconception.

Sylvain flirts outrageously with one of the maids. Felix isn’t sure what her name is, because she must be new – she looks vaguely familiar but that’s it. But she’s probably about the same age as Felix. He can also admit that she’s very pretty. Beautiful even, in a way that reminds him a little of Dorothea. But unlike Dorothea, this girl is silly enough to giggle at Sylvain’s attention, blushing and preening, probably not even noticing the rude double meanings of some of the things he’s saying.

Throughout it all, Felix glares at him from across the table, knife and fork clutched in his hands like weapons. He’s not hungry anymore. He’s furious at Sylvain for being such an insatiable beast – they’d been in bed together less than two hours ago.

But he’s also angry at himself, because what else should he have expected? Sylvain isn’t his.

Sylvain will never be his, not the way Felix wants.

He’s is only doing what he’s _always_ done, and Felix is the idiot who thought there was something more, and it’s stupid of him to feel this crushing disappointment.

“Elizabeth is your name? A beautiful name, fit for a queen.” Sylvain winks, and it’s too like the wink he’d given Felix before they’d left his room.

Felix wants to gag. Elizabeth was one of the most popular names in Faerghus for baby girls for years – it was the name of Dimitri’s mother, who’d died when Dimitri and Felix were still only babies.

The girl blushes as she refills Sylvain’s glass. “My mother named me after the old queen. She met her when she and King Lambert visited Fraldarius when she was pregnant with me. The king blessed me in my mother’s belly.” She beams as she recounts the story, entirely earnest.

“Wow, what a wonderful story.” Sylvain’s smile is wide and fake, and Felix wants to sigh. Sylvain has no business messing with a girl like this. She’s too genuine, obviously too sweet to realise Sylvain _isn’t_. She may look a little like Dorothea, but Dorothea knew very well how to handle Sylvain. Felix had seen her in action. But this girl… Felix can picture her singing as she works, smiling at everyone, thinking the best of them. Like Annette.

Would Sylvain really chase after this girl, right in front of Felix? In his own home? Would he take her to his room tonight, even after being with Felix already? When the red marks from Felix’s nails were still visible across his back and thighs? Even knowing that he could have Felix again?

Of course he would. He’d do it and break her heart because he doesn’t know or care that she’s a nice, sheltered girl who’s just starry eyed over a handsome lord paying attention to her. It would be because she’s beautiful and because he can, and because he’s an idiot.

Something twists inside Felix at the thought of them together; ugly and desperate. It’s jealousy and shame, and it’s love all at the same time.

Felix should say something. There are other servants in the room, though anyone who’s been here long enough knows well to ignore the flirtations of the Gautier heir. The only time Sylvain ever behaved here was when Rodrigue was around. No doubt Elizabeth will be warned after this.

But Felix knows – if it’s not her, it’ll just be someone else.

His eyes rise from his plate to watch this sad spectacle in front of him. Sylvain is his best friend and he doesn’t want to lose him. He knows that Sylvain cares for him, easily more than he cares for the other people he’s probably still sleeping with, but that he’ll never love Felix back. If what they were doing together was anything more than a physical thing, Sylvain wouldn’t be touching the wrist of the girl in front of him, commenting on how soft her skin is.

The lump in Felix’s throat gets bigger. He is definitely going to be sick if he tries to eat anything else.

He watches the coldness of Sylvain’s eyes, so different to how they’d been just an hour ago. His smile is wolfish, leering. And the girl is equal parts flattered and embarrassed, probably aware of how inappropriate this is, and it strikes Felix that she might not be sure how to handle it.

Her big green eyes flicker up to meet Felix’s, and she recoils at his venomous expression.

“Sylvain,” he bites out. “Stop manhandling her and let her work.”

Sylvain lets go of the girl and leans back in his chair, taking a long gulp of his wine. “Of course,” he replies easily. “I’m sorry for getting in the way of your work, beautiful.”

“Oh, please, my lord, don’t worry.” Elizabeth glances at Felix again with an apologetic grimace before turning and fleeing the room, face scarlet. One of the older maids follows her and he guesses the girl will be getting a stern lecture.

Felix rubs his chest absently as he tries to get his temper under control, feeling like there’s a large knot just under his skin. He doesn’t want Sylvain to know how angry he is. How _jealous_ he is.

If he tells Sylvain how he feels he might well lose him, and _still_ Felix has to bite back the words he wants to say. He’s too used to saying what he thinks, consequences be damned.

Whatever contentment he’d found just hours earlier is completely gone.

Abruptly, he stands. “I have work to do.” Sylvain’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You can stay in your usual room. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ignoring Sylvain’s protests at this clear dismissal, Felix strides from the room and doesn’t stop until he’s safely in the privacy of his bedroom. He flicks the lock, not entirely sure that Sylvain won’t sneak back in here in the middle of the night and right now, Felix can’t decide if he wants that or not.

Instead, he pulls off his clothes and throws himself on the bed, only to immediately get up again when he realises it still smells of Sylvain and sex.

He punches a pillow in anger, before pulling all the sheets and blankets off the bed, tossing them across the room. He retrieves his long, lined, fur trimmed coat and wraps it around himself, curling up into a ball and digging his nails into the palm of his hands, telling himself to be stronger.

It takes him a very long time to fall into a restless sleep. No one comes to his door.

.

Felix wakes up coughing, dragging himself up into a seated position, hand clutching at his chest as pain flares through him. Sweat breaks out across his back as the unpleasant sensation of something rising up his throat makes him shudder.

_No, no, not again._

He leans over the edge of the bed, coughing and spluttering as the flowers come up. When it’s all over he doesn’t move for some time, he just lies there, limp and exhausted, aching and bitter and tired. So tired.

Eventually he gathers himself together to look. These flowers are different again, with long, yellow petals. He reaches down to pick some of them up, still unable to understand what’s happening to him. The petals are like silk against his skin, undoubtedly real flowers. The only thing giving hint to the violent way they’ve appeared are the stains of blood.

Felix stares for a long time at the petals in his hand. He’d hoped so much that _whatever_ this had been wouldn’t happen again.

He takes a deep breath, sucking in as much air as he can, and then he lets it out slowly. His throat is a bit sore and he has a tightness in his chest and he’s so tired, but otherwise he feels fine.

He _is_ fine, Felix decides, like he did last time. He has to be. They are at war and Felix cannot afford to be weak or let himself be distracted even if… even if it’s by the fact that he’s vomiting up _flowers_. He’d gotten checked by a healer the last time it had happened and he was… he is fine. _Fine_. This is weird but it’s nothing, surely, to be too concerned about.

So Felix simply gathers up every single last petal and throws them on the fire. Nothing left to indicate anything out of the ordinary.

And then he prepares himself for the day and goes down to breakfast. His face etches into a scowl and his chest grows tighter as he enters the dining room to see Sylvain already there, flirting with a _different_ maid from last night.

Thankfully this one – Georgia, who Felix knows well enough because she’s been with them a while – seems unimpressed. She goes about her business with her mouth in a thin line, only stopping to stop a quick courtesy to Felix when he enters.

“Stop harassing the household, Sylvain.” Felix doesn’t bother to hide the irritation in his voice.

Sylvain responds with a too wide smile. It’s almost predatory. “It would be a crime not to say anything to such a jewel. I had no idea something this precious was hidden so deep in Fraldarius territory.” He winks at Felix, who suddenly has the urge to gag again. It would serve Sylvain right if Felix threw up blood and flowers all over him. “Many men would wage war for a face as lovely as this.”

Georgia simply rolls her eyes as she and the other servants finish setting the dishes on the table. She cuts a brief look at Felix, as if to ask _“is he for real?”_

“I mean it, you idiot,” Felix snaps sourly. “Stop it.”

For a moment there is only the sound of the servants leaving. Sylvain watches Georgia until the door shuts behind her and then his gaze flickers back to Felix. He’s still smiling that smile that Felix hates.

“What’s the problem?” Sylvain’s tone turns challenging. “Are you jealous?”

For a second all Felix can see are yellow petals.

He blinks and they disappear and there’s just Sylvain sitting across from him, wearing that mask.

Felix has never been able to do what Sylvain does. He’s never learned the art of having multiple faces. He never wanted to. But now he wishes that he had, because he can feel himself going red and is sure that his jealousy is embarrassingly on display to anyone who looks at him.

He drops his eyes to his plate, spearing a piece of bacon with his fork savagely. “Don’t be stupid,” Felix says with more aggression than he means to. “Why would I be jealous? I just don’t want to find some silly maid weeping over you in the corner instead of doing her work.”

“Weeping? Wow, Felix, you really do have a low opinion of everyone.”

He still doesn’t look up from his plate, chewing mechanically on food that tastes like dust. He doesn’t know what to say. Everything coming out of his mouth sounds stupid because the fact is that Felix is very much jealous but he will _never_ admit that out loud. He knows his status as Sylvain’s lover – _ugh_ – isn’t a unique one. It’s their friendship that matters. That’s what he has to keep telling himself.

A soft touch on his head makes Felix jerk up. Without him realising, Sylvain has come around to stand beside him, leaning against the table.

“What are you doing? I’m eating.” Despite his bite of his words, Felix doesn’t shove Sylvain’s hand away, because Sylvain’s mask has fallen away and he’s looking at Felix in a heart racing, fond kind of way. The same way he’d looked at Felix in the bathhouse that had made him think that maybe Sylvain could love him too.

 _Stop it_ , Felix tells himself. _Just shut up_ , he screams at his own mind.

“If it bothers you, I can stop,” Sylvain murmurs, holding Felix’s gaze as his hand moves to cradle his cheek.

Felix’s mouth parts as he struggles to understand what Sylvain means. Did he mean he’d stop touching Felix like this? Or stop the flirting? Only one of those things did Felix want. “You’d stop trying to seduce my household?” He finally asks uncertainly.

“Sure,” is Sylvain’s easy reply.

But it doesn’t satisfy Felix. So Sylvain will stop flirting with people at the Fraldarius estate. It’s not like he’s here that often. Felix wants to ask for more; he wants to ask him to stop seducing anyone that isn’t him but Felix could never bring himself to do that. To demand that of him would stop their arrangement and _Felix_ would be the jilted lover crying in the corner. He can’t ask more of Sylvain, not when he’s made it so clear he can’t give more, and not when might bring Felix closer to the type of person Sylvain despises. He cares about Sylvain – not his crest or his title – and Sylvain knows that, but he’d also been very clear that that he can only offer Felix this strange friends with benefits arrangement they have going on.

“ _I’m never going to fall in love_ ,” Sylvain had said, with a finely crafted laugh; well made but clearly fake to an expert. An expert on Sylvain’s smiles like Felix. Was it fake because Sylvain disbelieved what he said? Or was it fake because Sylvain knew just how sad that sounded; a fake laugh because he’d already resigned himself to a life with no love.

Felix is twisted up into a thousand, complicated tiny knots that he can’t undo. He doesn’t know what to say, and feels like anything he does say will be wrong. It’ll make everything worse. So all he does is nod and take another bite of his food, despite how little he feels like eating. That way he doesn’t have to speak. Sylvain retreats back to his side of the table to continue his own breakfast, seemingly unbothered by anything that’s happened in the last day.

So Felix tries and pretends to be unbothered too.

.

He coughs up more yellow flowers that night, less than an hour after Sylvain has left to return to Gautier. It’s a longer and more violent attack than before, and Felix picks up the flowers up in trembling, bloodied hands before throwing them on the fire. He watches them wrinkle and burn as he continues to struggle to get his breath back.

Before, he’s had months between these attacks. Now he’s had two in two days.

**Agapanthus (concealed love)**

The Professor is alive, and remarkably unchanged after her five year absence, her clear green eyes lingering on all of them in turn as she takes in how they’ve grown.

Dimitri is also still alive. He’s changed physically, but all Felix still sees is the same beast that Dimitri has been for the last seven years. While everyone else exclaims surprise over the changes in Dimitri’s demeanour, Felix knows better. The only difference is that the boar is no longer hiding what an animal he is. That mask has truly fallen away.

.

They get to the business of building a base and an army. The business of war. But Dimitri’s bloodthirsty attitude and snarling vengeance has everyone on edge.

Felix watches from the back of the cathedral as Byleth fruitlessly attempts to talk to him. Her words bounce off Dimitri’s back, because he won’t turn and face her, animal that he is.

Hearing someone approach, Felix glances sidelong to see who it is.

It’s Sylvain, his eyes also on Byleth and and the boar.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He murmurs quietly, careful not to disturb the quiet air of their surroundings.

Felix doesn’t reply, but Sylvain doesn’t seem to need one.

“It’s strange, being back here. Not sure how I feel about it.” He gives a half-hearted chuckle. “Even Seteth said it was nice to see me again. I’m sure he was lying but still, that was unexpected.” After a pause, Sylvain tears his eyes away from Dimitri’s back to look appraisingly at Felix. “Does Rodrigue know yet?”

“No.” Felix mutters. “But he will.” Felix hasn’t written to his father since returning to Garreg Mach, but he knows Gilbert has. His father had never even believed Dimitri was dead. It had angered Felix, so much, that he cared more about a dead man than his own son. Except Rodrigue had been right.

If they had found Dimitri sooner. If they’d kept looking…

Felix scowls.

Sylvain, probably sensing that Rodrigue is the last thing Felix wants to talk about, turns more fully towards him. “Do you want to get some food?”

“No,” Felix says again, just as short as before. “I have things to do.”

“Felix, c’mon, we just got here. Take a break from training.” Sylvain wraps his arm around him and Felix tenses up, torn. As much as he wants Sylvain to touch him, he also wants to run away.

The latter instinct wins out. He doesn’t reprimand Sylvain for his attitude or remind him that they’re at war, and that they all need to train or else they’d die. He simply shakes off the comforting arm, ignoring how cold he feels without it, and spins on his heel.

“As I said, I have things to do,” he repeats, hoping he manages to not sound as exhausted as he feels.

.

Felix isn’t going to train, for once. Instead he’s going to the library.

He only has to stop once, at the other side of the bridge, to cough up some purple flowers into a bush. Bracing himself against a wall for a few minutes, he waits for his head to stop spinning.

Thankfully, no one passes him by, and his secret remains safe.

.

He and Sylvain had seen each other only sporadically since Sylvain’s visit to Fraldarius. Felix’s obvious jealousy was never brought up again, and their relationship remained unchanged. Every time they see each other, Sylvain ends up in his bed, and Felix, for all his strength and will and determination, is completely unable to put an end to it – simply because he doesn’t want to.

He needs Sylvain as much as he needs air. And he’s all too aware of how pathetic that is.

What’s more, he’s still vomiting up those flowers, and it’s becoming a more regular occurrence. But it’s happened enough for him to form a pattern, and it has something to do with Sylvain, he’s sure. Or, at least, something to do with his feelings for Sylvain. The attacks were more frequent and stronger when he was around, or when Felix received a letter from him, or when he lay awake at night, ruminating on his feelings and their strange relationship. Felix can’t understand why that is, but perhaps it’s a starting point to try find out.

He had searched through his father’s library, hoping to find something helpful. The Fraldarius library is incredibly useful if you wanted to study Fódlan military history, or the Faerghus royal family, or trace the Fraldarius line right back to the Fraldarius of the Ten Elites. There were some medical books, which Felix had poured over, but nothing helpful.

He’s hoping the library at Garreg Mach is still in a decent state, and that he’ll find some answers there. If not, he knows he’s going to have to confide in someone, because it’s getting worse.

And he doesn’t know what to do.

.

He finds nothing at first, though it’s hard to find the time to go searching. Reclaiming the monastery and defending it against the Empire is their biggest priority right now, and he’s kept busy.

Somehow, despite the increasing frequency of his attacks, he manages to keep his strange affliction a secret. It’s helps that everyone is so busy and distracted.

But his lack of progress is making him frustrated, so much so that late one evening, a few days after they’ve successfully fought off an Empire attack on the monastery, he launches a medical book across the library in a fit of petulant anger.

 _Useless_. Everything here is useless.

A throat clears from the door, radiating disapproval.

“I know you are no longer a student, and therefore I have no authority over you, but I would appreciate it if you were more respectful of Garreg Mach’s books. Many of them are quite old, and delicate.”

It’s Seteth. _Of course_ it’s Seteth.

Felix stands up to retrieve the stupid, useless book, keeping his back to Seteth as he wrangles his temper under control. “I apologise,” he says stiffly, before turning back to the table he’d been sitting at.

Seteth is standing by it, his eyes tracing the titles of the books Felix has spread out. They’re all medical textbooks, used by students studying to be medics, learning to be healers and how to use faith magic. For all the expansive knowledge contained in them, not one of them mentions anything about vomiting flowers.

Seteth’s presence makes Felix feel uncomfortable. Exposed. He’s been coming here either so late or so early no one else would be around.

“Felix…” Seteth’s eyes raise to his, a troubled expression on his face. “I’m aware that this is none of my business, but I’m assuming you aren’t reading these to learn how to be a medic. Are you well?”

Crossing his arms, Felix looks away. “You’re right,” he says bitingly. “It’s none of your business.”

Seteth sighs with weary acceptance. “Very well. I shall not pry. But know that you can always speak to me, if you wish. If there is something… well, many people care for you. Please remember that.”

Perhaps it’s the sincerity in Seteth’s voice. Perhaps it’s the increasing desperation Felix feels. But either way, just as Seteth has reached the entrance to the library, he speaks. “Wait.”

Seteth turns, with a carefully neutral expression, and Felix takes a deep breath. “There’s… there’s something. I didn’t want anyone to know.” _I didn’t want to be weak._

Seteth waits, endlessly patient, completely still as Felix gathers himself.

“I keep… I keep coughing up flowers.” Saying it out loud makes it sound ridiculous, and for a moment Felix wonders if Seteth will even believe him.

But from his expression, it’s clear that he does. Seteth looks shocked, but not disbelieving. “You– for how long?”

“A couple of years.”

Seteth’s lets out a sharp exhale. “Come with me.” He takes off, striding down the hallway, and Felix follows, impatient, until they reach his office. Seteth ushers him in and closes the door.

“What is it?” He asks Seteth urgently.

“Please, sit down.”

Felix does, glaring at the older man. “What _is it_? You know?”

“I do.” He sighs, a sigh heavy and troubled as he glances through his bookshelves, obviously searching for something. “I have… heard of it, but not for a long time. These days, it is something to be found in fairytales or romance stories.”

“ _Romance_? Why?”

Seteth plucks a book from the shelf, one that looks older than anything that might be in the library.

“There is an illness known as hanahaki disease. It occurs when one is deeply in love with another, but believes that love to be unrequited. Those unspoken feelings bloom inside the person, into flowers.” Seteth places the book gently on his desk in front of Felix. “And then they must be expelled from the body.”

Felix stares at him, horrified and furious, for the moment ignoring the book. He knows whatever is wrong with him is strange, and had guessed it was something to do with Sylvain, but this? _This_? “I’m choking on flowers _because I’m in love_?”

Seteth’s reply is simple. “Yes.”

Felix stands up, suddenly unable to keep still. “That’s… that’s ridiculous. What kind of disease is this?”

“A very rare and old one. Felix, can I ask – do you have plans to tell the person you love your feelings?”

A cold rush washes over him, and he turns away. “No.”

“I… see. I–“ Seteth seems to be struggling with something, but Felix ignores him, pacing the room.

Eventually he fixes a glare on the older man. “How can I fix it?”

Seteth meets his angry look with a sad one. “You can tell the person. If they return your feelings, the love is no longer unrequited, the feelings are allowed out, and you will be cured.”

“And if I don’t tell him?”

“Then… then you will die, Felix.” Seteth steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder, obviously attempting to be comforting, but Felix shakes it off. “I am sorry. This is the tragedy of hanahaki disease. It will get worse until it kills you, unless the love is returned.”

Felix squeezes his eyes shut. “And if I tell him, and he doesn’t feel the same way? Will I die then, too?”

“Yes.” The response is a whisper. Felix doesn’t need to open his eyes to know there’s a despondent look on Seteth’s face. After moment of silence, Seteth continues. “There might be another option. There is…” He takes a deep breath. “There is a surgery, to remove the flowers and their growths. But it is very risky. From what I have read, few survive it, and those who do, lose every feeling they had towards the person they loved.”

Felix swallows heavily. “ _Every_ feeling?”

“So I believe.”

The surgery would remove his friendship with Sylvain, and not just his love.

Surely these can’t be his only options?

“I am telling you all this to be honest, but I believe there hasn’t been a case of hanahaki disease in hundreds of years – you must understand that there is no one alive who has performed the surgery. It might not be an option.”

“I’m going to die from it either way,” Felix says bitterly.

“Is there is no hope? Are you so certain your feelings aren’t returned?”

Felix hates everything about this conversation. _Everything_. “It’s impossible.”

“Truly? I know Prince Dimitri seems unstable at the moment, but–“

“ _What_?” Felix barks the word out, fists clenching and Seteth immediately seems to realise he’s made a grave error, because his eyes widen and his face turns a little grey.

“I apologise,” he says awkwardly. “Perhaps I was presumptuous. But is it not Dimitri?”

Dimitri?

 _Dimitri_?

“You think I’m in love with the _boar_?” His voice trembles with rage, and even though it’s late and he desperately needs to rest, Felix is heading straight to the training grounds after this because he needs to hit something desperately.

Seteth manages to look both hugely uncomfortable _and_ disapproving over the way Felix is speaking about Dimitri at the same time. “Felix. I’m sorry. It is just that when you said it’s impossible, and considering Dimitri’s current state of mind and the way you…” He trails off and shakes his head, briefly closing his eyes.

“It is not that animal,” Felix sneers, leaning into his anger because that’s easier than anything else. He's not going to ask Seteth to finish his sentence, because he's sure it's going to be complete nonsense.

Possibly the most uncomfortable silence of his life descends upon them, until Seteth clears his throat and quietly but sincerely says, “I will not make any more assumptions. It was wrong of me to do so in the first place. What I will do is this.“ He taps the book he’s left on the table. “This book contains studies of several cases of hanahaki disease from…ah, about two hundred years ago, I believe. It is mostly just gathering older information together. Even then, it was extremely rare. Pease take it. Perhaps you will find something useful in it.”

Felix nods jerkily, glaring down at the book, but he makes no other move, sensing that Seteth isn’t finished speaking.

He’s correct. “I will also,” Seteth continues, “do my own research and see if there’s something we can do to help.”

Felix shakes his head, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Felix.” Seteth sighs out his name sadly. “Very well. I will not break your confidence, unless the situation has gotten very bad. But would you not even consider telling Byleth? Or Mercedes – she is so gifted with white magic, she may be able to help, especially if I can work with her.”

“I–“ Felix’s first instinct is to say no, but he quickly reconsiders. “Mercedes. You can tell Mercedes. No one else.” He knows Mercedes would keep his secret, and Seteth is right. It’ll be worth dealing with her mothering if she can fix this, and Felix knows he’s not going to be able to fix it on his own. Not when he can never tell Sylvain the truth.

He doesn’t want the Professor to know, not while the disease isn’t affecting his ability to fight. He’s not going to give her any reason to pull him off the front lines.

.

Felix doesn’t go to the training grounds after speaking with Seteth. He goes back to his room and pours over the hanahaki section of the book he’s just been given, carefully turning the old pages.

But it just makes him more hopeless. All it does is confirm what Seteth had said. The only way to be cured is to have your love returned. Otherwise it looks like a certain death, slowly choking on flowers representing the unspoken feelings.

This is the most ridiculous disease to have, and of course Felix has it over _Sylvain_.

He doesn’t even consider the surgery. It appears a barbaric procedure that kills most of the people it’s been performed on. The few that survived, if this book could be believed, had it done as soon as the symptoms presented, before the flowers took a firm root inside and were relatively easy to dislodge. The hanahaki was cured, but the removal of the flowers also removed any feelings for the person in question. _Any_ feelings. Nothing was left.

 _Took root_. That phrase haunts Felix a little. Because now he knows that’s exactly what’s happening inside him, and why he finds it so hard to catch his breath, why he feels that pressure in his chest. He knows, he just knows that he’s progressed too far for the surgery to be an option even if he could face the consequences of it.

So now he’s left with two options – tell Sylvain, and die.

Or not tell Sylvain, and die.

He slams the book closed, no longer caring that it’s old and considered precious by Seteth. His fingers fidget over the cover and then he stands. Paces. Considers once more going to the training grounds. There’s a dangerous restlessness in him, and he’s suddenly too aware of what is lying beneath his skin, growing and getting ready to force its way out of him.

A noise in the hallway outside startles him, making him quickly blow out the candle he’d been reading by. He doesn’t want to have to answer any questions as to why he’s awake so late. He sits perfectly still, listening intently, trying to decipher if there’s any threat.

Hushed voices.

Felix frowns.

Moving as quietly as he can, Felix walks over to his door. He leans against it, listening, only feeling slightly ashamed that he’s eavesdropping.

“Don’t be like that, babe.”

It’s Sylvain, clearly being insincere, and Felix’s blood runs cold. He’s with someone.

“You’re such a disappointment.” Her angry voice is louder than it should be, carrying through the dead of night. Felix’s room is two down from Sylvain’s – in between them lies Dimitri’s room, but Felix is sure the boar isn’t there. Probably sleeping like an animal in the dirt somewhere.

“You know me well,” Sylvain drawls, and Felix hates it. Hates that tone of voice. Hates that he knows Sylvain will have that stupid inane grin on his face and will be crossing his arms behind his head, acting like he’s a fool when he’s anything but. “Ever consider that maybe it’s not me, it’s you.”

The girl makes a noise of disgust. “So now you’re making me walk back to the village at this time of night, alone, because you can’t get it up?”

“Hey, I’m not making you do anything. You’re the one who decided to leave because she’s not getting what she wants.” She tries to say something but Sylvain keeps talking over her, a cruel edge in his voice. “There are plenty of empty rooms around the monastery to sleep in. Even better, I’m not the only one with a crest here and a crest is a crest, right? Maybe you can stumble into someone else’s bed and get what you want.”

Felix closes his eyes. He shouldn’t be listening to this. This is ugly, this is all so ugly, right down to Felix listening like a jealous lover at the door. This girl may or may not be out to land herself a crested noble, he doesn’t know. But Sylvain’s the one who brought her back to his room. Why does he do this?

“You’re such an asshole, Sylvain.”

She’s right, Felix knows. Sylvain is an asshole. A stupid fucking asshole that Felix loves and is dying over and in this moment he can’t even fathom _why_. This is all such bullshit.

He belligerently pulls open the door and steps out into the dark hallway. There’s a small pool of light coming from the open door of Sylvain’s room, illuminating him and the tall blonde girl he’s with.

“Will the two of you,” Felix seethes, “shut the hell up. People are trying to sleep.” He might not be one of them, but they don’t need to know that.

Sylvain’s eyebrows raise but the girl looks uncomfortable. But she squares her shoulders, and with a final glare at Sylvain, says, “I’m leaving.”

He scoffs and replies sarcastically. “Okay, bye then.”

Felix makes a noise of annoyance before turning his glare on the girl. “Will you be safe?” He asks her, unable to help the sharpness in his voice..

“I can take care of myself,” she replies in a clipped tone, before disappearing down the hallway, being quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

Sylvain runs his hands through his hair. “Thanks, Felix, I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t want someone like you owing me anything. Just stop being such an idiot.”

He pauses, frowning. “You should make sure she gets home safe.”

“Yeah.” Sylvain sighs. “Yeah. I should, I suppose.”

.

Felix is still awake when Sylvain gets back. He hears him pause outside his door, and he lies still on his bed, wondering if Sylvain will knock. If he does, Felix has no idea how to answer.

But after a few minutes Sylvain moves on, and Felix hears him enter his own room.

All is quiet.

He wonders if Sylvain is sleeping.

.

The sun has just begun to filter in through his window the next morning when an all too familiar pain strikes Felix and he coughs and retches up a pile of purple flowers.

He hangs over the side of the bed when it’s over, limbs heavy, hoping no one has heard his desperate wheezing and coughing.

He lies like that for a long time, finding this attack harder than any of the others to shake off.

He’s never felt more hopeless in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth is probably the most unimaginative name for random royal NPC but whatever.


	3. Daffodils and cyclamens

**Daffodils (unrequited love)**

Felix knows he’s becoming more reckless on the battlefield. Perhaps it’s some influence of the boar, who is himself a barely unchecked animal. Or maybe it’s because Felix knows he’s going to die far sooner than he’d planned.

He can feel he’s losing strength, and grows tired too quickly. Perhaps he’s more reckless because he’s trying to overcompensate. It had been easier to accept that Sylvain would never love him than it is to accept that. What is left of Felix Fraldarius if he can’t fight?

He doesn’t want to die, and he doesn’t want anyone else to die because of his weakness.

Seteth and Mercedes check on him constantly, their growing worry clear as day even as they try to hide it. It should annoy him, their hovering. And it does, sometimes. But Felix can’t deny the relief that someone knows what’s going on and is trying to help him.

Not that they’ve found anything to cure him, despite their efforts. They read and research, and try potions and magics. Nothing helps.

They’re both the first two people to witness an attack as he sits with them in Seteth’s office, coughing and spluttering and choking until he’s finished bringing up several long stemmed, yellow flowers.

“Daffodils,” Mercedes murmurs as she rubs his back. Felix wants to shove her away, but there’s something comforting about it – maybe it’s just her magic, which can’t stop the disease, but is at least able to help his sore throat and pounding head.

Seteth had turned away, not out of callousness, Felix knows, but because he understands that the last thing Felix wants is for people to see him like this. But he approaches when Felix stops coughing, helping him drink a cup of water.

“They represent unrequited love,” he says quietly.

Felix glares at the flowers. These damned flowers. “They _mean_ something?” His voice is rough. Despite Mercedes’s healing magic, it still hurts to talk.

“Oh, yes, all flowers have their meanings. It’s part of why it’s seen as such a romantic disease.”

Felix transfers his glare to Seteth, who makes an apologetic expression.

_Unrequited love._

_Romantic._

Ridiculous.

This means all the other flowers he’s thrown up have meant something. Felix doesn’t know and doesn’t care to find out because he can hazard a guess at what it is – he’ll bet a bullion that it’s all variations of _you’re in love, but it’s miserable_.

.

Sylvain spends most nights in Felix’s room, and Felix learns what it is to know someone’s body, if not their soul. His lips trace over scars and muscle and with only the light of the moon through the window to see, Sylvain quietly tells him what each scar is.

Most are from battles, but too many are from Miklan, some that have been there as long as Felix has known Sylvain. He had known Sylvain’s brother was cruel, but had not grasped quite how much.

Even back then, Sylvain had known how to fake a smile, and Felix had not yet learned to tell the difference.

He’s angry, but Miklan is long dead and can no longer hurt Sylvain. Felix had been there on that horrible day, standing by Sylvain’s side as they watched Miklan turn into a demonic beast. He’d been there when the Professor had struck the final blow, and Sylvain’s tormentor was gone forever.

So instead he channels that anger into something else, a feat he hopes Sylvain damn well appreciates. He kisses each scar, softly, lovingly, with a reverence he didn’t even know he could possess, saying with actions what he can’t say with words. It’s a new way to be with Sylvain; before it was always bruising, biting, _fucking_. It still is, a lot of the time. But sometimes it’s not, sometimes it’s this, a way to show his love.

It’s a far better way to do it than the flowers.

And it almost feels like Sylvain is doing the same thing, with the way he touches Felix. Too often Felix drags him into a kiss out of fear he’s going to say something that might ruin everything, and send Sylvain running.

When Rodrigue comes to Garreg Mach, fretting over Dimitri, Sylvain listens without judgement to Felix’s harsh words about his father and the prince. He remains silent, pressing his fingers into Felix’s scalp in a gentle massage and kissing his neck until Felix finally exhausts his wrath and relaxes.

.

He gets used to sleeping with another person, because Sylvain no longer takes off after they’ve satisfied each other. Instead, he curls around Felix on a bed that is too small for two people, and yawns into his hair as his hands slide around and find purchase on Felix’s body.

Sylvain is still grabby even in sleep.

Felix doesn’t mind.

It’s something special to be able to fall asleep with someone, he decides. He’ll never admit to watching Sylvain’s peaceful sleeping face in the early morning light; the sweep of his eyelashes across his cheeks, the small noises he makes, the fall of his hair across his eyes. But he does, all too often.

_If I told you that I love you, what would you say?_

.

He can’t tell Sylvain, because while Sylvain won’t love him in the way Felix wants, he still cares about him. Felix never wants him to find out about the hanahaki – he doesn’t want Sylvain to blame himself.

So he swallows back his words and feelings only to have them come right back up as flowers, more frequently than ever.

.

Felix doesn’t sleep much when Sylvain isn’t with him, but he doesn’t hear any more late night visitors to Sylvain’s room. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any, but Felix doesn’t want to ask. As it is, he can tell himself that there are none. It’s probably a lie, but it’s easier to live with.

Neither of them bring up the night Felix had interrupted Sylvain arguing with that girl in the hallway, though Felix does wonder at what he heard.

He also gets very good at anticipating when an attack is going to happen, which makes it easier to hide. But it’s inevitable that people begin to notice something is wrong. It’s not really a surprise to Felix when Sylvain picks up on something first.

.

He wakes up abruptly, and knows immediately that it’s coming. Sliding out of bed as quietly as he can, Felix keeps stealing glances at Sylvain, hoping he isn’t waking up. But while Sylvain clutches at the space that Felix had just been occupying, he doesn’t stir. So Felix hastily pulls on a pair of pants and grabs a shirt before dashing out of the room. As he runs, stumbling, down the hallway, he pulls on the shirt and then presses his hands to mouth as he gags.

Somehow, he manages to make it to the forest the behind the dorms before he loses control, only hoping that he’s made it far enough away so that no one can hear him.

The daffodils come up, each one more bloodied than the last. There’s too many of them, and his vision begins to dim. But finally, it’s over, and he lies sprawled on the grass, sucking in loud, wheezing breaths gratefully, despite how much his throat hurts.

The sun has fully risen by the time he gets back up, shivering now at the cold sweat across his body. On shaky legs he makes his way back to the dorms, each step a battle, the ground rough on his bare feet.

He wants to groan as he looks up the steps back to his room, but he doesn’t. He simply grits his teeth and hopes no one will see him.

It turns out he’s in luck – he encounters no one and when he gets back to his room, even Sylvain is gone. Felix pauses at the threshold, taking in the neatly made bed – far neater than Felix ever leaves it – and then steps in, closing the door. He needs to get dressed properly and find Mercedes to help his throat.

And then he needs to go back to pretending that he’s okay and this isn’t happening.

.

Sylvain slides into a seat opposite Felix in the dining hall that evening.

“Hey,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Where’d you disappear to this morning?” Under the table, his foot nudges Felix’s.

Felix keeps his gaze on his plate. “Training.”

“Without your shoes?” Sylvain’s voice is deceptively casual.

Still staring at his food, Felix wonders how best to reply. He doesn’t want to lie. It’s not something he’s good at anyway.

As he’s thinking, Sylvain speaks again, but this time the casual tone has fallen away to show concern. “Felix… are you sick?”

The question jolts him, and he lifts his head to briefly met Sylvain’s stare. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, looking away again. “I just didn’t want to get sick in the room.” One lie, one truth, he supposes.

Sylvain leans forward over the table, and Felix wonders for a moment if he’s going to take his hand. Despite spending their nights together, to anyone else their friendship is just that – the same as it was five years ago.

Perhaps Sylvain remembers that too, because he pulls back with a tight lipped frown. “Are you okay? Can I–“

Felix waves a hand dismissively and cuts Sylvain off. “I told you, it’s nothing,” he says sharply. “Don’t worry about it. I doubt it will happen again.” All lies, this time, bitter on his tongue.

Guilt swirls in his gut, but Felix knows it’s nothing compared to how he’d feel if he had to see the look on Sylvain’s face if he ever realised Felix is going to die because of him.

It’s obvious Sylvain doesn’t quite believe him, but Ingrid and Ashe appear, chatting about some book as they join them, so he falls silent, and Felix wonders how long he has before he can no longer lie about this.

.

The first time an attack happens in a battle – as it was always inevitably going to – Byleth witnesses it. He’s probably been lucky it’s taken this long for it to happen on the field.

Felix isn’t even sure what the Professor is doing near him; she always seems to try and stick close to Dimitri during battles, and he’d thought her quite far away from him. But suddenly she’s at his side, as if from nowhere, hauling him away from the fray of battle as he begins to choke and cough. She drags him through a battalion of their own soldiers, and then down a stony path that is miraculously empty, eventually coming to an area with large rocks. There, they stop, and she shoves him behind one of the tall stones, out of sight. But even as he coughs, Felix can see her eyeing the sky in case any of the enemy pegasus knights find them. He wonders how she’d known this path was empty.

She makes no comment until the business is over, and doesn’t even look surprised at the small stack of bloody daffodils on the ground. She just silently hands him her flagon, which Felix gratefully takes a long, if painful drink from.

He gives it back, wiping the bloodied mouth of it with a grimace, hands still trembling. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

She stares at him with fathomless green eyes, and Felix realises how tired she looks. She hadn’t looked like this even an hour ago. “You could have told me.” There’s no accusation. It’s just a statement.

Felix glances away, uncomfortable. “You have enough to deal with.”

“You mean Dimitri?”

He scowls. “Among other things.”

“Does anyone else know?”

Felix looks up at the sky, clear and blue. “Seteth and Mercedes. They’ve been trying to help me. Do you… know what it is?”

Byleth nods slowly. “I know enough.” Her voice is careful. “Are you going to tell Dimitri how you feel?”

He shuts his eyes, asking the goddess for some fucking strength to deal with this nonsense. “Why,” he explodes, “does everyone think it’s the boar?”

Byleth doesn’t even look abashed. He opens his eyes to find her regarding him thoughtfully, head tilted to the side. “You’re always watching him. It’s obvious you care even if you pretend you don’t, and that you have some complicated feelings about him. And you’ve known each other a long time. People have written romances with a lot less.” Felix opens his mouth to argue _vehemently_ with her, because her words are disgusting, but she barrels on. “Anyone could understand why you don’t want to tell him, given his current state of mind. But he’ll come around, and Dimitri is a good man. And handsome. It’s understandable that anyone would fall in love with him.”

Felix mouth hangs open for a moment. He’s slightly stunned not only by Byleth’s words, but the almost wistful way she’d sounded at the end. It’s enough to not make him explode in rage at the assumption – _once again_ – he’s got anything but feelings of disgust for that… creature. “Just… just shut up,” he eventually says, somewhat weakly. “It’s not him.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she says gently.

“I know it isn’t!” He doesn’t mean to yell, he really doesn’t, but he’s so beyond done with all this. Felix thinks that Seteth still believes Dimitri is the object of his affections, although he thankfully has never, ever brought it up again and won’t if he knows what’s good for him. Mercedes, bless her, has never voiced any thought on the matter, just accepted Felix’s words when he said he couldn’t tell the person.

Byleth glares at him before quickly scanning their surroundings. No one is near them, but the sounds of battle are still too close to relax.

Felix takes a deep breath. “I am not in love with that animal. Go tame him yourself.”

“Felix.” Byleth sounds disapproving, but he does not care.

With difficulty, he hauls himself upright. “This is wasting time. We have to get back.”

“No,” she replies calmly. “I do. You fall back.”

He draws himself up tall, willing his body to stop trembling. “My place is–“

“Right now, your place is to fall back.” Byleth is calm but there’s a steely glint in her eyes. “You’re still shaking, your eyes are glazed, and it’s obvious you’re in a lot of pain. You’re in no position to fight. If you disobey me, I will knock you out and drag you away myself.”

He opens and closes his mouth. She wouldn’t.

She absolutely would, he knows.

Byleth continues. “Not only can’t you protect yourself, you can’t protect anyone else like this.”

She’s not being cruel, but it stabs at the heart of him all the same.

“Please, Felix.” There’s something about her – in her expression, her voice – that makes Felix’s argumentative reply die in his throat. It’s ancient and weary. It’s a silent request to not make her watch him die.

So he turns and stalks away without another word. Away from the battle. Like a useless lump, he waits, sword ready, hoping that an enemy will come along for him to take down, so he can prove that he’s still able to fight.

But no one comes, not until the army marches back, victorious in their battle.

Felix loses himself in the press of soldiers, avoiding his friends, and doesn’t talk to anyone on the journey back to the monastery, avoiding them even when they return because he’s so exhausted. He goes straight to his room and locks the door.

“Felix?” Sometime later Sylvain knocks with a gentle voice, but he ignores it, curling up into a tight ball on his bed. Felix already knows he’s going to have another attack soon, and he doesn’t want to risk Sylvain seeing anything.

But still, his heart aches as he hears Sylvain move away, even as a bitter part of him is angry for how _easy_ for Sylvain it is to walk away from him.

.

Ingrid is being annoying. She knows something is wrong. She wants to _help_. She wants to _protect_ him.

“Worry about yourself,” Felix snaps at her as they make their way to the dining hall.

“I am more than capable of taking care of myself,” she fires back. “And I’m not the one being sent off the battlefield by the Professor.”

Felix bristles. He’d thought no one had noticed. “If you were paying attention to me, it means you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.” He gets into the thankfully short queue for food. “You’re lucky you weren’t shot out of the sky – they had a lot of archers.”

She looks unimpressed. “Felix, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Ingrid scoffs as they accept their plates of food and make their way towards an empty table. “Would the Professor say that if I asked her?”

He slams his tray down with force, rattling the bowl. “She’ll say what I’m saying to you now – mind your own business.”

“Felix–“

“Stop trying so hard to act like a good knight,” he sneers. “It doesn’t suit you. Just shut up, eat your food, and leave me alone.”

He drops into his seat and starts spooning the stew into his mouth. He rarely has an appetite these days, but he knows he’ll get even weaker if he doesn’t force himself to eat.

Ingrid stands for a moment on the opposite side of the table. Felix doesn’t look at her, keeping his eyes down, but he knows her well enough to know that he’s upset her.

Her hands tighten on her own tray before she sits. But she doesn’t say anything else, and Felix glances up through his lashes to see her downturned mouth.

He looks away again, feeling guilty.

But neither of them say anything, each eating their food in heavy silence.

When Sylvain arrives a few minutes later, taking a seat beside Felix, he either doesn’t notice or completely ignores the tense atmosphere.

“Hey Felix. Ingrid.”

His greeting is met with grunts.

“Ah, you are both at your most lovely when you’re shovelling food into your mouths. If only I could paint. I am entranced.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and takes another healthy bite of her stew.

Felix ignores him. Well, not entirely. He’s paying enough attention to notice when the teasing sparkle in Sylvain’s eyes leaves and becomes something more serious. He glances at Ingrid briefly, who is still steadfastly not looking at Felix.

“I saw you talking with the Professor and Seteth earlier, Felix. It looked pretty serious. Is everything okay?”

Underneath the table, Felix feels Sylvain’s leg press against his own and resists the urge to press back. He swallows his food, hoping his face gives nothing away. “Everything’s fine,” he lies. Again. Byleth was worried about his progressing disease – they’d been sparring that morning and then he’d had another bad attack. It had felt endless at the time, flower after flower unpleasantly pushing it’s way up his throat. More daffodils. He’d also brought up his breakfast. That was a new development. And afterwards he’d been left panting and weak, taking longer than ever to recover.

It’s disconcerting that even though it was only a few hours ago, he feels mostly fine now. Tired, yes, but… alert. _Capable_. Byleth knew enough white magic to help his throat like Mercedes did. It was clear what she’d seen had alarmed her, and wanted to talk to Seteth.

From what Seteth had said, at some point, the bad times would outweigh the good as the flowers grew quicker and quicker, and that seems to be happening. Ultimately, he wasn’t able to offer anything to reassure Byleth or Felix.

“Everything is obviously not fine!” Ingrid bursts out, glaring at him. “Why are you lying to us?”

“I already told Sylvain, I was just a bit sick.” Felix’s shoulders hunch forward, feeling two sets of eyes boring into him. “That’s all.”

“That was a while ago, Felix.” Sylvain sounds concerned. “Have you–“

Felix slams his spoon down on the table, loud enough for several people to glance over. “Drop it,” he says lowly.

“But Felix–“

“No, mind your own business.” He finally looks up at Sylvain, who is wearing a pinched, worried expression, similar to Ingrid. Felix chooses to ignore it. “Stop bothering me. Go find a skirt to chase to distract yourself. Isn’t that what you usually do?”

Sylvain flinches and pulls back from him, and Ingrid seems surprised by how vehement Felix sounds. “We’re allowed to be concerned about you, Felix,” she says, angry again. “Don’t throw it in our faces.”

He stands quickly, ignoring the sudden wave of dizziness. Ingrid says something else, but there’s a buzzing in Felix’s ears, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. Regular sick, at least, and not the hanahaki kind. A strange thing to be grateful for.

So he ignores Ingrid, even as she stands to continue arguing with him, and takes off, running away from his friends like a coward.

All he can see the hurt expression on Sylvain’s face, and the way he’d recoiled from Felix.

Maybe, Felix thinks, bitter and tired, if he can make them hate him it’ll be easier for them when he dies.

.

Except he can never do that, of course. When Sylvain inevitably comes knocking later that evening, Felix lets him in.

He doesn’t actually want Sylvain to stay away. That hurts more than having him close.

Sylvain steps into the room carefully, like he’s bracing for an attack. He pauses in the centre of it, turning back to Felix who shuts the door quietly.

“So,” he says, deceptively casual. “You want to explain what all that was about?”

Felix stays silent, because the answer is _no_ and he doesn’t think Sylvain will accept that.

“Ingrid’s really pissed. But she’s hurt, too. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“She was prying,” Felix says shortly. “You both were.”

Sylvain scoffs. “Yes, it’s really terrible to have people care about you.”

He’s being sarcastic, but Felix thinks he’s right. How terrible would Sylvain feel if he knew what was happening to Felix precisely because he cares too much?

“That doesn’t mean you’re entitled to know every aspect of my life.” He keeps the bite in his voice, but it’s empty.

Sighing, Sylvain’s shoulders drop forward. “I guess not.”

He sounds so sad that Felix feels like a monster. _I can’t tell you_ , he thinks. _It will only hurt you more._

But he has to say something.

“I…” Felix licks his dry lips, searching for words. He’s terrible at this – saying one thing while thinking another. “The Professor and Seteth are helping. I pushed myself too hard.”

Sylvain’s head raises and Felix forces himself to meet his gaze.

“That’s it?” Sylvain asks. “You’re really not going to tell me?“

Felix steels himself. “No. I’m not.”

Turning, Sylvain walks towards the window, leaning against the wall and looking out at the rapidly darkening sky. Felix hasn’t even bothered to light a candle yet, and the room is quickly growing dark.

“Is it because of what you said earlier?” Sylvain doesn’t turn back to Felix as he talks.

Felix thinks back to that uncomfortable conversation. It takes him a moment to realise what Sylvain is referencing. “About your skirt chasing?”

Sylvain lifts a shoulder casually, still not looking Felix’s way. “Yeah.”

This is a topic Felix would rather avoid because he can’t conceal his ugly jealousy, and he freezes, unsure what to say.

But Sylvain keeps speaking. “Because there hasn’t been anyone else in… a while, you know.” It’s so casually said, like he’s remarking on the weather and not sending Felix’s whole world on a tilt.

“There was that girl,” Felix says roughly. That awful night where he’d pressed against the door and heard Sylvain argue with her.

“Ah, her.” Sylvain runs a hand through his hair, sending it into even more disarray. He finally turns and looks at Felix, still standing against the wall by the door across the room. “Nothing much happened. Turns out I wasn’t really in the mood for it, if you know what I mean.”

Felix remembers what the girl had said well enough, so he does know. But even the _nothing much happened_ bothers him because it still means something happened. He hates how jealousy curls in the pit of his stomach even though Sylvain has basically just told him he hasn’t been with anyone else for months.

He doesn’t know how to take that. Is it because Felix is here and convenient? Is it because there’s so much else going on, with the war and Dimitri?

Is it because of something Felix hopes for that he really shouldn’t?

He stares at the floor, clenching his fists. “I’m surprised to find out you’re not quite as insatiable as I thought.” He grinds out the words, feeling awkward.

Sylvain huffs out an incredulous laugh. “You can’t be serious?”

“What?” Felix looks up.

“How often am I in your bed?”

Felix’s eyes dart towards the bed in question, a barrage of pleasant memories hitting him, and he feels his face redden. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve kept a running tally.”

“Right.” Sylvain steps towards him. “But it’s most nights. When you’ll have me. Maybe I’m just insatiable for you?”

Warmth blooms in Felix, a far nicer feeling than the choking sensations of the flowers that blossom inside him.

_It’s just sex, Felix._

Insatiable. Right.

He tenses up again, trying to build up a defence to the smile on Sylvain’s face. “Save your flattery. I’m still not telling you.”

The smile dims. “Are you going to be okay?”

Felix looks away. “We’re at war.”

Stepping closer until he’s only a touch away, Sylvain stares hard at him. “That’s not an answer, Felix.” He sounds frustrated.

“That’s all you’re getting.” Felix steps forward into Sylvain’s space, resting his hands on his hips. “Take it or leave it.” He lets his palms slide over Sylvain’s stomach and up his chest, eventually letting them curl around the back of his neck. Only then does he meet Sylvain’s eyes, to find his friend looking at him with a conflicted expression.

But it passes quickly, because Sylvain grits out, “I’ll take it,” before he pushes Felix back into the wall and claiming his mouth in a consuming kiss that Felix is all too willing to fall into.

**Cyclamen (saying goodbye)**

His father’s funeral is a blur. Not that it’s really much of one. He isn’t being buried up in Fraldarius beside his mother and Glenn’s armour.

Instead, Rodrigue Fraldarius is buried at the edge of Gronder Field in the Empire. One of the nuns with the army says a few words. Sylvain is by Felix’s side. Ingrid on the other. He doesn’t hear anything being said.

It’s raining. The ground is soft. The sky is an angry grey.

After the service, people being to drift away, the nun to say more words over other dead bodies, and Felix takes up a shovel to begin covering his father where he lies in a hole Felix had helped dig only a few hours earlier.

He mechanically throws the sods of dirt over his father’s wrapped body. He wonders if this is similar to how they buried Glenn; rushed, everyone still in their armour and splattered with the blood of those they’d killed themselves that day.

When Dimitri offers to help, Felix all but snarls at him. He can hardly even form words. He can’t even _look_ at Dimitri, who now, finally, seems to have realised that his path to vengeance was the wrong one to take. All it took was Felix’s father dying for his sake.

“I am sorry, Felix,” he says, mournfully, like he’s not some disgusting animal on his back legs and this isn’t all a complete farce. He kneels down, placing a hand over the loose dirt covering Rodrigue and murmurs something.

“It should be you in there,” Felix seethes, desperately angry, wanting to claw Dimitri, wound him – for a second wanting to anger Dimitri so much he lashes out. But now all the anger that Dimitri has been carrying out for months – no, _years_ – seems to have drained out of him, leaving only grief and regret.

“Yes.” Dimitri is so quiet, Felix can hardly hear him over the pounding rain. “It should.” He looks so sad, so _remorseful_ that Felix can’t stand to look at him.

He tightens his grip on the shovel, and begins his work again.

“Get out of my sight,” is all he says, and Dimitri, with his sad face, leaves. He sees Ingrid fall into step with him, sees the hand Dimitri places on her shoulder and knows the prince is making his apologies to her now. He’ll be saying sorry to them all for a long time.

Not far away, Sylvain stands. He’s said nothing for some time now, obviously knowing better than to offer Felix his help or get involved between him and Dimitri. They’re alone, with everyone else having drifted away. There’s so much to be done, they don’t have time to linger about the dead, especially not with the continued threat of Edelgard’s army.

He lifts the soil from the pile unearthed to make the hole to put Rodrigue in. And then he throws it back in.

His father is already covered, never to be seen again. Just like Glenn. Just like Felix soon will be.

Tears prick at Felix’s eyes, but he just blinks them away as he continues working, telling himself it’s just the rain falling down his face. His hair is splattered to his head, wet tendrils sticking across his cheek.

He feels very cold, despite the exertion.

And when he’s done, arms trembling, exhaustion setting in, Sylvain is there. He’s there helping him get back to camp, he’s there as they march back to Garreg Mach, because now the boar has realised he really should help the people of his country, so they’re turning around for Fhirdiad. Enbarr will wait for another day.

Felix peels away from the army not long before they reach the monastery, feeling that too common tightness in his chest and unfurling pain that lets him know an attack is going to happen. It’s not a surprise. It seems to be happening every few days now.

Pink flowers overflow from his mouth, a stream of them. It leaves him gasping, drawing in rattling, wretched breaths. When it’s over he is drained, exhausted.

For a while he doesn’t want to get back up again. He’s not sure he has the strength to do so.

But eventually he does, and he stumbles back to the column, finding Sylvain waiting for him with a worried expression. It makes Felix freeze, fearful that he _knows_ , but Sylvain is obviously assuming his ashen expression and red rimmed eyes are over his father, or the war, or possibly anything other than what it actually _is_.

And when they get back to the monastery, he guides Felix to his bedroom, and carefully undresses Felix and puts him to bed, before removing his own clothes. Then Sylvain joins him, curling himself around Felix, who lets his hand rest on Sylvain’s chest. He knows Sylvain’s heart is just underneath, unencumbered by flowers and twisting roots but inaccessible all the same.

.

For everyone else, things get better after Gronder Field. They retake Fhirdiad and then they liberate Derdriu and save Claude. Dimitri’s supposed recovery is a relief, but Felix still watches him carefully, not convinced.

And for Felix, everything is getting worse.

He’s dying. He can’t deny it anymore, and the expression on Mercedes’ and Seteth’s faces just confirm it.

He’s dying, and it terrifies him.

He doesn’t want to die, but even if the extremely risky and uncertain surgery to remove the growths inside him is still an option, he never truly considers it. To live and still be in Sylvain’s life, but not loving him. Never able to care for him in the same way again… it’s unthinkable, and as cruel to Sylvain as it is to him.

But he doesn’t want to die.

What’s more, the urge to tell Sylvain how he feels is only growing, like the damn flowers inside him, even if Felix still doesn’t expect to have his feelings returned – not in any way more than friendship. But he wants Sylvain to know that he’s worthy of love, of letting himself be loved, of letting himself be _happy_.

Except that if he tells Sylvain he loves him, so much that he’s dying from it, it’ll be just another reason for Sylvain to hate himself.

Could he tell Sylvain how he feels and not mention the hanahaki?

He already knows something is seriously wrong and Felix’s refusal to talk about it is driving a wedge between them. His friendship with Ingrid is suffering, too, although she’s been kinder to him since his father died.

Felix pushes hard to prove to himself and to Byleth that he’s still capable of fighting. She spars with him often, scrutinising his every move. He’s sure she can see how he’s deteriorating, but she doesn’t pull him from the front lines, even as Mercedes argues he should be resting.

It doesn’t escape Felix’s notice that Byleth sticks closer to him on the battlefield, apparently content now to let Dedue take care of Dimitri. He’ll take her protection, even if it galls him to do so. It’s not like he has a choice.

There’s still a small, pathetic part of him that hopes if he keeps pushing, if he’s just strong enough, he’ll get better. He won’t die. The flowers will stop blooming.

But of course that won’t happen, and as they make their final assault on Enbarr, Felix knows his time is running short.

It’s beyond frustrating to know his body is failing him. His strength is leaving, dying with the rest of him. He’s easily winded. He’s growing weaker, both physically and mentally. It doesn’t take much to drain him, but he can’t sleep either. It’s not helped that he mostly sleeps alone now, driving the wedge between him and Sylvain ever deeper. But it seems whenever he lies down, it causes another coughing fit, and he usually starts retching up more petals. At this rate, it won’t take much for him to be killed in the last battle of the war.

He’s so very, very tired.

When he sees Sylvain watching him with a sad expression, as he so often seems to be these days, he feels utterly exhausted.

Felix doesn’t know how he’s going to say goodbye.

.

Caspar almost kills him in Enbarr.

Felix is dismayed to be facing him. They’d sparred together so often during their time at school. And he can see by the expression on Caspar’s face that the feeling is mutual. But neither of them are going to back down. Neither of them _can_.

Felix’s movements are too slow and sluggish, and a blow from Caspar that he really should have dodged sends him staggering. His sword goes skittering across the ground. It seems to happen in slow motion to Felix’s eyes, his outrage at himself for being disarmed being overwhelmed by his sheer exhaustion. He can feel another attack coming on – they’re frequent these days, so they’re never far away – something pushing up out of his chest. That nauseating feeling he’s become depressingly familiar with. It dominates his life now.

As Felix turns, beginning to cough, blood already splatting onto the stone pavement, from the corner of his eye he notices Caspar hesitate. It’s only for the shortest of seconds, because while Caspar is a good man, he’s also been fighting in this war for a long five years and even if his enemy is coughing up blood on the ground, he’s not going to let him walk away.

Felix doesn’t think it’s better this way, to die on a battlefield in service of his king rather than wasting away from an illness. He knows his father would. His father would probably be proud.

His _father_.

Tears prick his eyes and Felix knows it isn’t just from the coughing and pain and inability to catch his breath. This is a bad one; he can feel the steams and leaves and blossoms of what feel like a whole damn bouquet coming up his throat, which is already raw and bleeding. These flowers inside him are growing so quickly now. He wonders if they’re still those pink ones or if this twisted disease is going to make him vomit up more feelings as raw as the inside of his throat.

He’s never going to see Sylvain again. He’ll never see any of them again.

A long cry of rage breaks through Felix’s anguish, and he manages to raise his head enough to see an expertly aimed javelin take Caspar through the throat. Their eyes meet; the look of pained surprise on Caspar’s face is haunting. His axe slips from his hand, and then he falls to his knees, only a few steps away from Felix.

“Felix!”

There’s a flash of green in front of him and the Professor puts Caspar out of his misery. She turns to Felix, and he’s aware enough to be surprised at the look of fear on her face, and how grey her face is. She looks exhausted.

“ _Felix_!”

But it’s not her saying his name. It’s Sylvain. Felix’s head drops again as the tremors wracking his body grow stronger.

There’s a hand on his back, and even through his armour he knows it’s Sylvain.

“Where are you injured? Professor! Can you heal him?” There’s desperation in Sylvain’s voice, but Byleth doesn’t respond, and Felix doesn’t know what’s happening around him because bloody flowers are spilling out of his mouth. Pink, with brown-green stems and large leaves.

And blood. So much blood. His head swims, and his entire body starts violently trembling. If it wasn’t for Sylvain holding him, he’d have fallen face first into the pile of flowers he’s thrown up.

“I have you. I have you, Fe.”

Too weak to respond, Felix only sags in Sylvain’s arms. There’s a heated discussion going on over his pounding head. He wishes they’d shut up, especially when he registers the voice of the boar among it all.

“Felix.”

He cracks open his eyes with difficulty, looking into the concerned blue eye of Dimitri, who is kneeling in front of him. Just behind him is Byleth, with a sad expression on her face. He groans, and Sylvain’s arms around him tighten.

One of Dimitri’s gloved hands gently brushes across the petals.

“You should have told us, Felix,” he rumbles, sounding hurt – hurt! – about it.

Felix can hardly speak, his throat ravaged and burning. “Go… away.”

“What is it?” Sylvain asks, a panicked edge to his voice.

“Hanahaki disease.” Dimitri’s gaze turns sad at Byleth’s words, before he looks beyond both of them and hardens. “Sylvain, take Felix back to camp. We need to press on.”

Right, thinks Felix distantly. They’re in Enbarr, fighting. Close to defeating Edelgard and winning the war. Strange how he’s forgotten.

“ _Hanahaki_?” Sylvain sound disbelieving. “Like that thing in Ashe’s book?”

Felix’s eyes close. Of course Ashe had some book with hanahaki in it. Probably a lovely maiden had it who fell in love with a noble knight and confessed her feelings and they both lived happily ever after.

Fuck that book.

Sylvain continues. “Is _that_ what’s been wrong with him?”

Byleth replies, but Felix can’t make out her words. He feels like he’s slipping underwater. He doesn’t even have the energy to argue that he should continue fighting, a sure sign that he’s not capable, and in these moments – his dying moments, because what else could they be? – Felix is selfishly glad to at least be in Sylvain’s arms.

Above him, Sylvain is speaking rapidly, and the boar and the Professor’s voices dim. Sylvain never lets go of Felix. He still can’t make out the words being said, so he just listens to the sound of Sylvain’s voice as he drifts away.

For the first time in his life, Felix wonders if there’s an afterlife.

.

.

.

.

.

“Hey, you’re getting better.” Glenn grins, eyes twinkling at his little brother.

Felix’s chest is heaving from the exertion, but he’s pleased, and smiles back. He still can’t win against Glenn. His big brother is so good with a sword, and he’s bigger than Felix and has been training for longer – but, someday, he will. Right now, he blooms under the praise, even allowing Glenn to ruffle his hair affectionately, a gesture Felix usually considered himself far too old for.

Glenn had long hair. Felix had refused to allow his father to cut his, deciding to grown his own out, too.

Putting away their swords, Glenn gestures towards Felix. “Let’s get some food. The dining hall should still be open. It’s Daphnel Stew today.”

Felix brightens even further as they step out into the monastery grounds. The sky is a soft pink. A tranquil twilight.

There are flowers under his feet instead of the usual stone ground he’s used to feeling. Felix has walked back and forth from the training grounds too often to not notice the difference. He looks down, confused. There’s a sea of flowers under him. They’re all the same type, but he’s not sure what they are. Some are yellow, some are pink, or white. A few are purple.

“Glenn?”

Looking up, Felix realises something is wrong. Glenn had never been to Garreg Mach. He’d died a few months before he was due to go to the Officer’s Academy.

Felix says his name again, his voice small and wavering, like the child he’d been when Glenn had died.

“The flower thing is such bullshit, isn’t it?” Glenn says, looking down at the ground before glancing back up at Felix. “Fucking _flowers_ , of all things.”

Felix is caught between a laugh and a sob. Glenn’s potty mouth had gotten him into trouble, and then when Felix had started imitating him, it had gotten them _both_ into trouble.

He misses his brother, so much.

Felix stares at him. His expression has turned sad, his blue eyes shining. Glenn had the same colour eyes as their father, whereas Felix had taken after their mother – a women he’d never known, because she’d died not long after he was born.

But there’s a family portrait of them all, painted right after Felix’s birth, in the great hall at the Fraldarius estate. Felix is familiar with his mother’s amber eyes from that. In the painting, her eyes are smiling as she holds her youngest son. To her side, stands her husband, his hand on Glenn’s shoulder.

Rodrigue still stopped and looked at the portrait often.

 _No_. Not anymore. His father is dead too.

Glenn is wearing the same armour he’d been in the last time Felix had seen him. It’s the armour he had died in. The armour that had been sent back to their father, cleaned of his blood but still dented, like some twisted consolation.

Felix feels sick.

“Glenn.” He’s sobbing now, and Felix throws himself into his brother’s arms.

“I’m so proud of you, Felix.” Glenn ruffles his hair once more, and this time lets his hand rest gently on top of Felix’s head.

 _This is a dream_ , Felix thinks. And then, _maybe I’m dying_.

Maybe it’s both.

He starts coughing again, pushing away from Glenn to heave and choke through his tears. His brother keeps him steady, holding Felix as he struggles to breath.

As everything dims around him, the last thing he sees is Glenn’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth using all 13 uses of the divine pulse to save Felix because he’s a stubborn little shit. She only screams at him to stop being so difficult once, maybe around rewind #9, a true feat of strength.
> 
> This chapter has had a little less editing done on it than I usually like to do, so I hope it’s alright. I’m about to go hop on a plane and won’t be able to update till next weekend, and wanted to get this out before I left. Final chapter will be up next Sunday. <3 I haven’t had a chance to reply to comments on the last chapter, but thank you for reading/kudosing/commenting, it really makes my day. So glad you’re all enjoying this ride on the angst train where every stop is pining town, except for when it's smutville.
> 
> (I also know you don’t fight Caspar at Enbarr but shhh)


	4. Freesias and red roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this. Life got inconvenient. Enjoy!

**Freesia (trust)**

Glenn’s face lingers for only a moment as Felix wakes, because he’s quickly overwhelmed by the too familiar feeling of retching, and the painful sensation of flowers clawing their way up his throat.

But it means he’s still alive. Somewhere, distantly, behind the pain and exhaustion, he registers that and tries to hold onto it.

Unfortunately, when he opens his eyes, Felix realises that he’s also hanging off the side of a horse, and the flowers from his dream – fuck, that _dream_ – are spilling out of his mouth. The already unpleasant hanahaki experience is made completely disorientating at this height, and he quickly clenches his eyes shut again.

But he's not alone. Strong arms hold tight around him, holding him steady while at the same time keeping control of the horse. Felix knows it’s Sylvain, had known it even before he’d realised he was on a horse. Sylvain is rooted in him, even deeper than the flowers.

Felix can feel Sylvain in his bones.

An armoured hand brushes sweaty hair away from his face, and Felix can feel the timbre of Sylvain’s voice rumble through him, but he can’t make out the words over the pounding in his head. He’s hardly aware of Sylvain somehow managing to manoeuvre him to the ground – Felix can’t focus on anything beyond trying to breathe as the flowers fall from him, but Sylvain’s presence is a comfort. There’s a large part of him that wants to go back to sleep and see Glenn again, but even in his despair he mentally pushes back at that.

_I don’t want to die._

Once the attack is over, it’s some time before Felix can open his eyes. When he finally does, he realises he’s squinting up at the sky. His head is on Sylvain’s lap, cushioned by the hood of his cloak. He can still feel Sylvain’s hard armour underneath.

He shuts his eyes again, trying to get his bearings. One of Sylvain’s hands – now bare – brushes against his face.

He is not dead, but Felix thinks that that dream about Glenn is going to haunt him until he _is_. He hasn’t dreamt like that about Glenn in years, so vivid and real. It makes him ache.

But he can't think about that now. Later, if he gets the chance. Right now he has to come to terms with the fact that Sylvain knows about the hanahaki.

Blinking open his eyes again, Felix looks around as best he can considering his position, avoiding glancing directly at Sylvain. The horse is nearby, grazing. It’s quiet, wherever they are. Felix thinks this might be the farmland outside Enbarr, away from the fighting. They’d passed it as they’d entered the city.

Finally, Felix looks up at Sylvain, just to see him scanning the area with a tense expression. Away from the fighting, perhaps, but still not safe.

The Lance of Ruin glows nearby, ready if needed. Felix’s hand twitches to his side, seeking out his own sword; a completely unconscious movement – he’s probably not even able to lift it at the moment.

At the movement, Sylvain looks down at him, and Felix can see how strained he looks. He’s never seen Sylvain look so… shattered before.

Felix closes his eyes again, feeling the prick of tears against them, and does what he always does – he pushes them back.

“I…” Sylvain starts and then stops. “I was going to ask how you’re feeling, but that’s probably a stupid question. I thought it was best to stop while you… you know. But we’ll need to move soon.”

There’s a strange hesitancy about Sylvain that makes Felix uncomfortable. So he doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know what to say. A tired anger rises in Felix, that this is what it’s come to, but he’s too weary to do anything. All he can do is lie here, pitifully dying.

He’s angry about that too.

Forcing open his eyes again, Felix is a little startled to see Sylvain's face looming closer, still with that shattered expression. “Felix,” he whispers brokenly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He wants to look away, to not have to see that expression on Sylvain’s face, but he can’t. He _can’t_. But he can’t respond either – the answer is too complicated.

_How could I tell you?_

Sylvain curls around him, careful to Felix’s comfort, making sure he isn’t jostled. His face tilts closer and fills Felix’s world. “I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t want to push you, and Ingrid said not to… and I thought…” It’s strange, Felix thinks, to see Sylvain so unravelled. He’s always been good with words, charming and clever. Sylvain always assumes people want his attention because he’s a crested noble, but it’s not just that. People are drawn to him even when they don’t know his status, despite the mask he wears.

Or perhaps Felix is just biased.

With effort, he lifts a heavy arm to graze his fingers along Sylvain’s cheek, hoping it’ll wipe the sad look off his face, but it only manages to make Sylvain more upset. “I thought if it was serious you’d tell me. That maybe it was just the war, you know? And with Rodrigue… I didn’t… _I should have_ – I’m sorry, Felix.” Sylvain’s voice cracks on his name.

“It’s not your fault,” Felix whispers, curling his hand around the back of Sylvain’s neck, anchoring himself to him. And it really isn’t. It’s not Sylvain’s fault that Felix fell in love with him and somehow managed to get the most ridiculous disease known to man. He coughs again, rough and painful, but mercifully nothing comes out. He can feel it though, building up inside him again. They’re growing so fast, these flowers, and it’s not going to be long before they choke him to death. It can’t be long. Even breathing is painful.

Sylvain’s fingers are still stroking through his hair gently. His other hand rests on Felix’s chest, just above where Felix can feel more flowers growing uncomfortably inside him.

“I didn’t even think hanahaki was real,” Sylvain mutters. Then, louder, “If you’re feeling better –“ Felix snorts at that, then coughs again, and Sylvain’s expression turns even more pained “– we should get back on the horse. Get you to a healer.” He’s doing a poor job at concealing his worry, and Felix is torn between feeling guilty and stupidly happy that even if he doesn’t have Sylvain’s love, he’s still his friend. To the end.

But still, he doesn’t have the energy to get back on the horse. “No point.” His voice is a croak, each syllable a knife in his throat. “Won’t help.”

“There has to be something. You can’t… you can’t die, Felix.” The hand in his hair leaves and Sylvain sniffles and rubs his eyes. “We made a promise.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Felix says back, exhausted. “Won’t be able to keep it.”

“Why… why won’t you tell them? The person you love?”

Felix remains silent and drops his eyes, looking at the hand resting on his chest, suddenly unable to look Sylvain in the eye.

Sylvain keeps talking. “You have to try,” he says desperately.

“No point,” Felix breathes out, those two words agony. Pain twists inside him, and he coughs dryly. He wonders if this next attack will be the one to kill him.

He’s been wondering that for a while.

“Is it…” Sylvain trails off, and Felix opens his eyes again. Sylvain’s expression is tortured, and he licks his lips nervously. Felix can see the tears glistening in his eyes, and he knows, with some dismay, what Sylvain is going to ask next. Sylvain, like everyone else, is going to ask if he’s in love with Dimitri and when he does that, Felix will somehow find the strength to punch this idiot in the face. It might actually kill him to do it, but by the goddess, he absolutely _will_.

Sylvain’s expressions shifts into something he can’t read. “Felix… is it me?”

Felix jerks in surprise, which sets him off coughing again, the pain of it making him unaware to everything else for a few moments. When he comes back to himself, he’s sitting upright, supported by Sylvain, a smattering of bloody petals on his legs and the ground beside him. He wheezes for a few moments, trying to get his thoughts under control.

His entire body is trembling, shaking like a leaf. He feels so weak and vulnerable – he _hates_ it. Felix leans forward, hunching his shoulders, and Sylvain remains steady beside him the whole time. He can feel the cold sweat prickling against his skin under his armour.

And Felix realises that he can’t lie to Sylvain. Hiding it is one thing, lying to his face about it is another.

He no longer has the strength to pretend.

“Of course it’s you,” he finally manages to say, his voice little more than a creaking whisper.

Sylvain lets out a sob, but Felix doesn’t turn to look at him. He can’t bear to see what might be on his face; grief, pity, sadness. If it’s not love, he doesn’t want to see.

“How could it not be you?” Felix takes in a shuddering breath, and begins coughing again.

He’s so tired, but there’s a relief in finally saying it out loud. Perhaps that’s selfish.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, however, because he abruptly finds himself engulfed in Sylvain, arms drawing him upright, and kisses being placed across his face despite the coughing. “I can’t believe you’re the one always calling me a fool.”

Sylvain’s voice is still thick with tears, but there’s something else there that leaves Felix confused, and hardly daring to hope. Finally, he looks at Sylvain’s face. It’s still strained with worry, but now there’s a brightness in his eyes that has nothing to do with the tears in it.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” Sylvain leans in closer, to whisper against his skin, “how much I love you, because how could I not love you? You’re my best friend and I love you.”

Leaning back, Felix desperately searches Sylvain’s face for any sign of deceit, for _anything_ that might suggest Sylvain is doing this in the hope that it will save him. But there’s none, there’s just… love.

Sylvain’s eyes search across his face, his hands holding him tight and his voice as earnest as Felix has ever heard it. “I thought I was lucky to have you in my bed. I didn’t deserve that much, how could I ask for more? _Felix_.” Sylvain says his name so reverently, it leaves Felix breathless – for a pleasant reason, for once. “I didn’t know you were suffering like this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands cradle Felix’s face – it’s slightly disconcerting; one hand bare, the other still in armour. “I love you.”

Before Felix can reply, Sylvain kisses him properly, and for a second Felix wants to jerk back, because he feels disgusting. He’s been coughing up blood and flowers. He’s sweaty and grimy. And yet –

Felix kisses him back, with just as much desperation as Sylvain – who certainly doesn’t seem to care that Felix is a mess. He breathes Sylvain in; his warmth and scent around him a balm, and like always, kissing Sylvain runs everything else out of his head, leaving him blissful.

But it doesn’t last long before Felix starts coughing again, and he has to pull away, hands desperately scrabbling at the armour over his chest as something shifts painfully inside him.

“Felix!” Sylvain sounds desperate again, brushing his hair out of his face as he retches. “I love you. I do. I’m not lying.” His voice is filled with so much pain, and it breaks Felix’s heart to hear. “I thought that fixed it? If the love was returned?”

Sylvain keeps talking, but Felix can’t make out the words anymore, not when he can’t breathe and his head pounds.

And then something _breaks_ inside him, and once again, he passes out.

.

This time Felix doesn’t dream. But then, he isn’t unconscious for long, although he’s only vaguely aware of what’s going on around him – Sylvain’s voice pleading, being lifted, the motions of the horse, and then loudness everywhere and yelling. It’s like being underwater.

He wants to open his eyes, but he can’t. Eventually he sleeps again. Somehow he knows that Sylvain is there.

.

The first thing he notices when he wakes is how quiet it is. And then he registers that he’s lying in a comfortable bed, looking up at a ceiling he’s never seen before. It’s dim, but not dark.

He takes in a breath – carefully, as he’s become so accustomed to doing – and braces for the coughing fit. There’s none. In fact…

He takes another breath. A deeper breath than he’s been able to take in months, filling his lungs. His throat is still a bit sore. But there’s no coughing. There’s no pressure on his chest, or that sickening feeling of something growing inside him.

He can breathe.

Felix swallows down a sob that threatens to overwhelm him, and gingerly sits up, intending to take stock of his surroundings. But he only gets as far as seeing the person sitting on a chair next to the bed, slumped forward and resting his head on his arms near where Felix is lying.

There’s a beam of light making it’s way into the room in a gap between the curtains. It shines across Sylvain’s head, illuminating his bright hair.

Felix reaches out on an arm that still feels a little weak and gently slides his fingers through the messy locks. Sylvain shifts under the touch, and when he raises his head, blinking blearily, Felix lets his hand drop back against the mattress.

It doesn’t take long for Sylvain to rouse himself, his eyes widening as he realises Felix is awake. He lets out a strangled cry and then launches himself forward, clutching at Felix, a hand in his hair, while Felix rests contentedly against his shoulder.

“I think I’m alright,” Felix murmurs into the fabric of his shirt. His voice is still hoarse. But there’s still no sign of coughing. He can breath easy.

He’d forgotten what it’s _like_ , to be able to breathe.

He sucks in a deep breath just as Sylvain lets out a shuddering one. “Manuela and Mercedes said the hanahaki was cured but that you were so weak they wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

An arch voice from the doorway startles them apart. “And in response, Sylvain said, _‘Felix is the strongest person I know, he’ll make it_.’ And he was right.”

They both turn to face Manuela who smiles at them. Felix blushes and Sylvain also seems slightly embarrassed, but Manuela pays that no mind as she approaches. “I’m glad to see you awake, Felix. Can I do a quick examination?”

Manuela checks him over, looking pleased at what she finds, and Felix holds tight to Sylvain’s hand the entire time. Sylvain had offered to give him some privacy, but the glare Felix had shot him told him not to dare leave.

Her smile is indulgent when she finishes. “It’ll take some time for you to recover your strength, but you’ll be fine. You do need to take it easy, though.” She arches an eyebrow at Felix in warning, probably suspecting he’ll immediately return to training before he’s ready.

She’s right.

“Don’t worry Manuela, I’ll make sure he rests.” As he speaks, Sylvain’s hand tightens around Felix’s.

“Oh? You will, will you?” Felix turns a glare on him.

“Absolutely. I’ll make sure you won’t want to leave the bed at all.”

For a second Felix isn’t sure if Sylvain is making an innuendo, but when Manuela laughs, he knows that he most certainly was. “Sylvain, honestly,” she says. “Felix needs to rest.”

“That’s fine. I can do all the work.”

“Shut _up_ , Sylvain.” Felix can feel himself going red, unable to believe the easy way Sylvain is talking to Manuela about their sex life. And then he realises that everyone knows, or will know, who Felix has been sick over. It’s been a secret for so long, that even just holding Sylvain’s hand in front of someone feels strange.

But not in a bad way. His grip tightens on Sylvain’s hand. This is allowed now.

The thought makes him smile.

“Yes, Sylvain, do listen to Felix and learn how to keep that pretty mouth closed.” Manuela turns to Felix again. “I’m going to get you some food, and I’ll let the others know you’re awake.” Her eyes dart between them. “But I’ll tell them you’re not up for visitors yet, if you like?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Felix responds gratefully, and with another smile, Manuela leaves them alone, quietly shutting the door behind her.

This time it’s Felix who launches himself at Sylvain, immediately forgetting Manuela’s advice to _take it easy_. His lips seek Sylvain’s, eagerly kissing him, letting himself be pressed back into the bed. There are a million questions he has to ask, but for now he’s content like this, alive and kissing the man he loves.

Sylvain obviously feels Felix’s lips curl up in a smile and he pulls back just enough to see his face, his hair falling in disarray around him. Felix reaches up to brush it away.

“What are you smiling about?” Sylvain asks before pressing a kiss to his jaw, like he just has to keep kissing him.

“You love me,” Felix replies, with something like wonder.

Sylvain grins, smile wide and eyes bright, the happiest Felix has seen him in… possibly ever. “That I do. For so long.” His smile fades. “I should have said–“

Shaking his head, Felix places a hand over Sylvain’s mouth. “I didn’t say anything either.”

“I kept thinking about it.” Sylvain’s voice is very quiet as he removes Felix’s hand from his mouth, taking a moment to kiss his knuckles. “But I thought I should wait until after the war. If we both survived.” He takes in a long breath, a shadow crossing his face.

“I believed you, when you said you’d never fall in love.”

Sylvain laughs bitterly. “I thought I believed that too, at the time. I was already lying to myself.”

Felix watches him with sharp eyes. Just like it’s a marvel to be able to breathe again, he’s also appreciating the return of his clarity. He can see now how fogged his brain had been for some time, and he wonders how he’s managed to survive his last few battles.

 _The professor_ , he thinks. She always seemed to be looking out for him, there to help just in the nick of time. And the others, of course.

“You know you…” Felix licks his lips, suddenly realising his throat is dry, and pauses to take a drink of water from the cup Sylvain hands him. His mind is racing, trying to find the words he wants to say. Sylvain waits, patient, until finally Felix goes on. “You know you deserve it, right? To be loved.”

Sylvain looks away. “I never expected it,” he sighs.

Felix straightens and grabs Sylvain’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I mean it. I love you.”

To his surprise, Sylvain blushes at that, a smile crossing his face. “When did you know?” He asks quietly, taking Felix’s hand in his own.

Fora a moment, Felix wonders whether to tell him. But he’s also not going to lie. “When you came to Fraldarius a couple of years ago… the first time we…” He trails off, lifting a shoulder, knowing Sylvain would understand.

He does, immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise. “That long,” Sylvain whispers, pained. And then he winces, flinching away from Felix.

“What?”

“I’m just remembering all the shitty things I’ve said and done since then. I’m sorry.” Sylvain shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, Felix.”

“You didn’t know.” And it’s not like Sylvain is the only one who’s been shitty. Felix knows he’s had his moments, too.

“I should have.” Sylvain looks truly upset. “I’m not worth all that suffering. You–”

“Shut up,” Felix snaps.

“But you–“

“I said _shut up_. I’m not interested in dwelling on the past, or watching you flagellate yourself about this. Why do you think I didn't want you to know, when I thought you didn't feel the same?” Felix growls. “I want to start thinking about the future… our future.”

The words seem to chase some of the shadows from Sylvain, although not quite enough for Felix's liking. “I do like the sound of that.”

Felix nods decisively, like the matter is settled even though he expects it’s not the last he’s seen of Sylvain’s guilt. But that’s fine, because Felix will be alive to tell him to get over it.

For now, he changes the subject. “I’m assuming we won the war?”

“Oh, right.” Sylvain's eyebrows raise, having obviously completely forgotten about all that. “Yes. Edelgard is dead. It’s over. You’ve been out for a week, but we’re still in Enbarr. Mercedes didn’t want to move you too far while you recovered. Everyone is still here, but Gilbert has been pressuring His Highness to get to Fhirdiad and officially take up his throne, but Dimitri wasn’t leaving until you woke up. Everyone’s been worried.”

Felix processes this. He’s annoyed he wasn’t able to fight in the most important final battle, and that his body failed him so badly. And the war being over means having to face being the Fraldarius heir and all that entails, when all he really knows is how to swing a sword.

There’s still a lot he needs to talk to Sylvain about.

But he’s alive. The rest can wait. He pulls Sylvain towards him again, seeking his lips.

When Manuela returns a short time later with a tray of food, she sighs before exclaiming, “This is not _resting_! Sylvain, get off him.”

Sheepishly, they both break apart. They’re both flushed, but Felix can see the smile that Sylvain is trying to hide as he settles back into his chair. He’s distracted from his embarrassment by the smell of the food and his stomach rumbles.

For the first time in months, he actually feels hungry.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Manuela says, setting the tray down. “Now, do I need to leave this door open or can I trust Sylvain to control himself?”

Sylvain turns on the charm. “Manuela, I can’t believe you think it was me who started that. Felix can’t keep his hands off me.”

Felix would have reacted to that but he’s too busy taking a heaping spoonful of stew. It’s no different to the bland rations they’ve been eating for months, but right now it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Whatever you say, Sylvain,” Manuela counters with a raised eyebrow, obviously disbelieving. She points a finger at him. “Just remember, I have my eye on you.”

He stares after her as she leaves. “Can you believe that?” He says to Felix, and then, “Are you _smirking_ at me, Felix Hugo Fraldarius?”

“No,” he replies, still smirking.

They lapse into silence as Felix eats, and Sylvain moves around the room, pulling open the curtains and opening a window. It’s a bright, clear day, the air fresh. Distant sounds from the city filter in, normal sounds, like there had never been a war at all.

“You must be hungry, to be eating like Ingrid.” Sylvain’s eyes are sparkling, warm and soft as he watches Felix.

With his spoon halfway between the bowl and his mouth, Felix frowns. “You’re staring at me.”

“Of course I am.” Sylvain makes his way back to the bed, kicking his shoes off and clambering onto it to sit beside Felix. He’s careful as he does so, hardly disturbing Felix as he eats, and he settles back into the pillows, their shoulders touching. “You’re too beautiful not to stare.”

Felix colours and turns his head towards Sylvain. On the surface it sounds too much like the lines he’s fed countless people before, but it really isn’t. Felix wonders when he learned to tell the difference.

“Can you at least wait until I’ve finished eating.” Felix pauses. “And bathed.” It’s not that Felix is vain, but he feels rather disgusting.

Sylvain leans into him. “Sure, I think I can control myself for that long.”

“Doubtful,” Felix mumbles.

Once he’s finished eating, Sylvain takes the tray and places it on the table beside the bed.

“Where in Enbarr are we?” Felix asks, leaning to try see out the window.

“It’s a house that belonged to a noble family, I believe,” Sylvain is sombre as he answers. “Not far from the Imperial palace. A lot of the injured were brought here.”

Felix picks over that for a moment. Whoever had lived here is now dead, like so many others. Enabrr is probably full of empty houses. He wonders how many died. “And what’s it like?” He nods towards the window. “Out there?”

“Surprisingly quiet, but most of our army is still here. Keeping the peace and all. I think the people are tired of war.”

And Felix, despite the fact that all he knows how to do is fight and for whom the prospect of peacetime is terrifying, can understand that.

.

Ingrid and Dimitri visit first, Dedue for once not shadowing the boar closely. Ingrid storms in with angry tears in her eyes and throws her arms around Felix. It makes him uncomfortable for a moment, because when was the last time he hugged Ingrid? Long, long before Glenn’s death, when they were still children and the boar was still human. Back when Felix was still generous with his hugs and cried over everything. But then he relaxes, drawing his arms around her, meeting Dimitri’s eye over her shoulder, who lingers near the foot of the bed.

“You have terrible taste in men,” Ingrid mumbles into his shoulder before drawing back, wiping at her eyes.

“Hey,” Sylvain protests.

“I know,” Felix grumbles, cutting his eyes to Sylvain, who pouts at him dramatically.

“ _Hey_ ,” he says again.

Dimitri snort laughs quietly, so normal and genuine that Felix doesn’t quite know what to make of it. “You could do worse, Felix.”

Sylvain preens at that. “Thank you, Your Highness. See, Ingrid, the _king_ gives his approval.”

Dimitri’s blue gaze travels over to Sylvain. “But I suppose he could also do better.”

There’s a beat of silence as the other three in the room process that Dimitri, who not too long ago would have eagerly stepped over their corpses to get his revenge against Edelgard, is making an attempt at a joke.

Sylvain reacts first, clutching his chest. “I’m wounded, Dimitri. _Wounded_.”

Dimitri smiles. “You called me by my name, Sylvain.”

“That’s how wounded I am!”

“Stop being dramatic.” Ingrid is unimpressed.

It’s been years since they’ve been like this together. Felix wishes he could relax like the others seem to be. Instead, he feels awkward, propped up in his bed as they surround him. He dislikes feeling like an invalid, even if it’s only temporary, and even if he’s grateful to just be alive. Leaning back into his pillows, Felix watches them as they bicker, a number of conflicting emotions battling in his chest. No flowers, though, thankfully. Unconsciously, he lifts his hand to his chest, not realising that he’s mimicking Sylvain’s movements, albeit in a far less dramatic and more genuine fashion.

No flowers are choking him. He can breathe.

“Felix.” The tone of Dimitri’s voice catches his attention; it’s his _I’m about to say something excruciatingly earnest_ tone. “I am so relieved you’ll recover and…” Dimitri takes a deep breath. “I want to apologise, for how I acted before, and for what happened to Rodrigue. I know apologies mean nothing without the actions to back them up, and I hope you will give me the chance to do that.” He stares at Felix, so annoyingly _sincere_ that it makes him look away.

Ingrid and Sylvain remain silent and still and Felix tenses, clenching his jaw. He has to bite back a barb, because that’s his first instinctual reaction – to lash out and tell the boar to stop playing at being human. He also has to repress his second instinct, which is to tell Dimitri to shut up and pick up a weapon so they can spar and Felix can knock him on his ass. His third instinct is to walk away. Those last two aren’t choices right now, not when he’s bedridden like some lovesick maiden.

It occurs to him that is is very much bedridden because he is – or was – lovesick.

Not a maiden, though.

The silence grows heavy, and he notices Dimitri’s shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye.

“Fine,” Felix eventually snaps, cutting his eyes back towards Dimitri. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Dimitri dutifully averts his eyes with a smile playing on his lips, seemingly content with that brusque response, while Sylvain slides his hand over to take one of Felix’s. Felix turns to him and feels a blush spread across his face at the soft expression that’s being directed at him.

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” Ingrid declares, her eyes on their intertwined hands.

“What?” Felix asks, suspicious.

She raises an eyebrow at him and replies in a deadpan voice, “Seeing Sylvain display genuine emotion.”

That cuts at Felix, crossing a line. He feels Sylvain start to withdraw his hand, and clutches on tighter in reponse, not letting him go. “Watch it,” Felix snaps, narrowing his eyes at her.

Ingrid immediately holds up her hands, contrite, obviously accepting that she’d gone too far. “You’re right, that was uncalled for. I’m sorry, Sylvain.”

“Nah, I probably deserve it.” Sylvain shrugs easily, too easily, and Felix transfers his glare to him.

“No, you don’t.” Ingrid leans forward, expression earnest. “I’m truly happy for you both.”

“As am I,” Dimitri echos, and the awkward moment passes. Sylvain’s smile turns genuine again and Ingrid softens, and old friendships begin to mend.

.

“I was surprised it was Sylvain.” The Professor is as blunt as ever. Felix narrows his eyes at her, but she continues on, unbothered. “Seteth and I thought it was Dimitri, even after Felix denied it.”

Sylvain laughs, eyes sparkling, while Felix scowls. “Does His Highness know that?”

“No.” Byleth pauses. “Not yet.”

“Do _not_ tell him about your idiotic assumptions,” Felix growls, a threatening note in his voice.

By his side, Manuela sighs. “Professor, please, I’m trying to check Felix’s pulse and you’re making it difficult.”

Byleth shrugs. “Sorry.” She doesn’t look or sound particularly sorry as she stares at Felix, but her next words are genuine. “I’m glad it’s all worked out, though I wish you had told him sooner.”

“You and me both, Professor,” Sylvain says lightly, but Felix doesn’t miss the strain in voice. It bothers him, even if he knows it’ll take time for Sylvain’s guilt to abate.

“I know Felix has said he doesn’t mind you both being here, but I will make you all leave if you continue to stress him.” They all know Manuela will do as she says, too.

“I’m not stressed,” Felix insists, but Manuela just sighs and takes a step back, letting go of his wrist and obviously giving up for now. She gives him a disgruntled look as she does so. He hasn’t exactly been a good patient, pushing himself despite her advice.

Turning his attention away from Sylvain and back to Byleth, Felix snaps, “You were both fools to think it was Dimitri.”

To her credit, Byleth seems to concede this with a tilt of her head, her eyes dancing from Felix to Sylvain and back again. “It seems obvious now. You know,” she continues casually, “Mercedes said she thought it was Sylvain.”

“Huh.” Sylvain leans back, looking impressed.

“Of course she did,” Manuela says with a wave of her hand. “That girl is sharp.”

“She never said.” Felix is thoughtful as he thinks back over all the times Mercedes had helped him. She’d never once pushed him to tell her who he was sick over, or to tell the person in question.

“Well, I wasn’t entirely certain,” a soft voice from the door speaks. It’s Mercedes, smiling as she holds a tray. Felix’s appetite has returned with a vengeance and he’s looking forward to more food. Annette is by Mercede’s side, beaming at Felix, who smiles back at her. “I just had my suspicions," Merecedes continues. "And I didn’t know how Sylvain felt.” She steps into the room and her smile dims momentarily. “It was hard to know what to do. I’m just glad it all worked out.”

Sylvain stands and rounds the bed to hug her. “Thank you for looking after him, Mercie.”

“Oh, it was no trouble.” She pats Sylvain’s shoulder. “Just take good care of him.”

“Oh, I will.” Sylvain waggles his eyebrows.

Later, he has a chance to talk to Mercedes and thank her himself. She smiles and squeezes his hand and tells him that she’s so happy for him and Sylvain.

When he finally gets around to thanking Seteth, the reaction is a little different.

“I was surprised it was Sylvain. He is…” Seteth pauses for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line. He finally continues. “Well. I cannot say I know him well. But it matters not. You are recovering, and that is what is important.”

Felix stares at him, surprised at the realisation that Seteth doesn’t like Sylvain. He shouldn’t be, considering Sylvain’s reputation. “Thank you,” he says stiffly, because he still finds Seteth hard to talk to. “For helping.”

Seteth smiles at that. “It was no trouble. I am truly happy to see you recovering, and I wish the best for you and Sylvain.” He pauses again. “It is a strange disease, isn’t it? It seems almost magical in nature, but no spell can cure it. Although,” he continues, beginning to sound wistful. “I suppose love is a kind of magic.”

Felix resists the urge to roll his eyes. That sounds like the kind of line from a romance novel, and that’s exactly why he doesn’t read them. What a load of foolish nonsense.

But then Sylvain finds him not long after, with a wide smile and open arms, Felix's heart beats faster at the sight of him. And when Sylvain murmurs his name and presses a kiss to his lips, Felix has to wonder if perhaps Seteth does have a point.

Because this feels like magic.

**Red roses (love)**

He's hardly taken a step into the room when he sees it.

"What the _fuck_?"

Felix glares at the huge bouquet of red flowers sitting in an elaborate vase in the centre of their bedroom.

Sylvain removes his lips from Felix’s neck, but keeps his arms around him as he glances in the direction of Felix’s gaze.

“Oh, I wonder where they came from?” He rubs his cheek against Felix’s hair like a contented cat, pressing his chest closer to his back. “We can get rid of them.”

Felix shrugs out of Sylvain’s embrace and steps towards the offending flowers, sitting on the table in the middle of the room. He picks up the note nestled amongst the petals, careful not to touch them.

Flowers are fine outside, in the ground, where they should be. But Felix doesn’t like them in his house, especially in his bedroom. He'd put up with the funeral flowers – he's not so callous as say anything when so many had died during the war. Peace brought relief and a hope for the future, but grief still weighed heavy on so many. No family had been untouched by the events of the last few years.

So Felix had bit his lip, and only glared at the white lillies people sent in remembrance of his father, ordering them to be removed as soon as they started to wilt.

These days, as the cloud of grief began to pass, there's very few flowers about the Fraldarius estate. So he doesn't understand why there's a ostentatious display of them in his room.

But the card soon answers his question. “It’s a congratulations note from some of the local lords,” he says with some disgust, before crumpling it up and tossing it on the fire.

Sylvain closes the bedroom door behind him before making his way over to Felix. He runs a comforting hand down his back. “To be expected, really. The Duke getting engaged is a cause for celebration, after all.” His hand drifts to Felix’s waist, bringing him flush against him. “Red roses,” he murmurs. “They symbolise love.”

Felix grunts against Sylvain’s chest. “The _language of flowers_ is ridiculous. Why did you learn it?”

He feels Sylvain laugh. “I found a book on it years ago in the monastery when we were students. I just thought it was interesting. Thought it might help me pick up girls.”

Felix ignores Sylvain's stupid justification for reading a book about flowers. Sylvain found lots of things interesting. And then he’d read a book about it and remember everything from it. He’d aced his classes without having to put in much effort. It had really been quite annoying.

“We haven’t even made an official announcement yet.” Felix knows he sounds petulant, but managing the minor lords is one of his least favourite duties as Duke Fraldarius. And he shouldn’t be surprised the news has spread – his own servants know of his relationship and engagement to the new Margrave Gautier – as do plenty up in Sylvain's territory. So it's inevitable that word would get around and people would view it as another way to gain their favour. Altough, a lot of them were finding the new Duke less patient than the old one. Felix is learning a newfound respect for his father now that he realises all he had actually done. He wishes it hadn’t come too late.

Sylvain sounds thoughtful. “Maybe they’ll send something good when we actually _do_ announce it.”

Felix can't help but laugh at that, and relaxes.

“Do you want to throw them on the fire?” Sylvain asks the question casually, but it makes Felix shrug uncomfortably.

“They’re just flowers,” he mutters, pulling away to loosen the cuffs of his shirt, face drawing into a frown again.

“Sure,” Sylvain says agreeably. “So it’s not a big deal to just throw them on the fire.”

Felix pauses and meets Sylvain’s warm gaze.

“It’s perfectly understandable to not like flowers,” Sylvain continues. “It’s not a weakness.”

“Feels like it,” Felix mutters with some reluctance, not wanting to admit it.

“Well.” Sylvain taps his chin thoughtfully. “Are you going to let these flowers distract you as I ravish you tonight? Because they absolutely have to go if they are.”

Crossing his arms, Felix sneers at him. “Presumptuous.”

Sylvain’s lips twitch slightly. “What? At the flowers or the ravishing?”

Felix steps forward, back into Sylvain’s space. He grabs his collar, and pulls Sylvain’s face down to his. “The presumption that _you’ll_ be the one ravishing _me_.”

Sylvain’s eyes widen as he grins. “Oh?”

Felix lets go and steps back before Sylvain can grab him. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

Sylvain laughs and does as he’s told, starting by pulling off his shirt. The sound of his laughter warms Felix far more than any fire could. By the time he's has finished burning the flowers, the fire is blazing just as much as Sylvain’s gaze as he rests on his side on the bed, completely naked.

“Here I am, waiting to be ravished.” He stretches out like he’s posing for a painting, making quite the pretty picture.

Felix can’t help but grin in response, removing his own clothes and tossing them haphazardly away as he makes his way over to the bed, grabbing some oil on the way and leaving it by the pillows. He presses Sylvain into the mattress, straddling him before leaning down for a kiss. He takes his time, enjoying having Sylvain under him, teasing and touching lightly _here_ , biting and dragging his nails in deep _there_. Sylvain moans and whimpers under his ministrations, and Felix keeps going until there isn’t a part of Sylvain he hasn’t kissed or touched.

Leisurely, Felix lets his eyes trail over him, from the top of his head (hair in disarray), down to his neck (prettily bruised from Felix’s bites), over his flushed face and down his chest (heaving with heavy breaths), and finally stopping on his hard cock, that’s weeping and begging to be touched.

No, Felix reconsiders. _This_ is a pretty picture.

“You’re killing me here, Felix,” Sylvain huffs out breathlessly, his head falling back onto the pillow.

Felix has a smile in his voice when he responds. “Not yet.” He decides he likes taking his time with Sylvain. Before things were so often rushed, usually by Felix himself, with Sylvain laughing at his impatience. But there’s something to be said for this.

He leans forward, and Sylvain eagerly rises up to meet his kiss. As he does so, Sylvain pulls the tie out of Felix’s hair before tangling his hands in the long strands.

Reaching out, Felix momentarily breaks the kiss to pour oil into his hand. Then he aggressively takes Sylvain’s lips agains as he ghosts his hand over his cock. Sylvain groans into his mouth, hands tightening in Felix’s hair. When Felix presses his fingers inside him, Sylvain stills, breath hot against him. Felix teases him for a few minutes, enjoying watching Sylvain's reactions, before he stops moving.

“Felix, _please_!” Sylvain’s hands claw down his back, attempting to pull Felix closer to gain some friction.

“Please, what?” Felix asks with a wicked smile. As he does so, he curls the fingers inside Sylvain, making him jerk and clutch tighter to Felix.

But Sylvain still manages to grin up at Felix, pawing at his ass. “Please, ravish me.”

Huffing, Felix slides his fingers out and grabs a pillow to place under Sylvain. “Stop saying ravish,” he says as he positions them both to his liking before grabbing the oil again, taking in the sight before him as he strokes himself.

Sylvain stops saying much of anything then, because Felix is easing his cock into him, slowly, still enjoying taking his time. He watches Sylvain’s face the whole time, the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the curve of his smile. Sylvain arches into him as he’s filled, his strong thighs settling around Felix.

“You… okay?” Felix asks, breathless, eyes fluttering closed as he’s enveloped in Sylvain’s warmth.

Sylvain angles his hips. “Never better.” He sounds just as breathless.

Felix opens his eyes to watch Sylvain as he starts to thrust, still taking his time. It doesn’t take long before Sylvain is moaning, thrusting back, hands grabbing greedily at Felix as heat builds between them.

When Sylvain groans his name, and says, “You feel so good,” and “I love you so much” in the most debauched tone of voice, Felix can’t hold back any longer, and his own moans spill out as his movements speed up. He reaches between them and starts stroking Sylvain, needing to see him come. It doesn't take long, and Sylvain cry is hoarse as he throws his head back, spilling across Felix's hand and both of their chests. His hair is slicked to his face with sweat. He looks like a mess, in the best possible way, and it's not long before Felix follows him in his release, almost collapsing onto Sylvain as he rides it out. Immediately, Sylvain's arms wrap around him and hold him close, and they both lie there, attempting to catch their breath.

Sylvain places a kiss onto Felix’s head, before rolling him over and going to clean himself up, tossing a cloth at Felix to do the same. Felix watches in some amusement as Sylvain quickly tidies up their scattered clothes as he does so – Sylvain is surprisingly neat. But it’s not long before he clambers back into the bed, immediately wrapping himself around Felix again, who happily lets him, even humouring the wet smack of a kiss Sylvain presses to his cheek.

“When did you know, that you loved me?” It’s a question Felix has been meaning to ask for a while, although he hadn't meant to blurt it out quite like this.

If Sylvain is surprised by the sudden question, he doesn’t show it. He just settles himself so that he can look Felix in the eye, and answers. “I loved you for a long time before I even realised,” he murmurs, brushing some hair out of Felix’s face. “But I knew a while after we went back to Garreg Mach. It wasn’t even anything specific that happened. We’d been sparring and you stopped to fix your hair because it had fallen out and I thought ' _wow, he's beautiful_ ' and I just… realised.” He gives a small, self-depreciating laugh. "That sounds so shallow, but it was like I couldn't deny something I'd known for a long time any longer."

Felix digests that, a bit surprised by the answer even if he hadn’t known what he’d expected Sylvain to say. Sylvain could be talking about any normal day – how often had he and Sylvain sparred, and Felix had fixed his hair? Too often to count.

“It terrified me, because I didn’t think you felt the same way and I had no business being in love with anyone. If I’d been more honest–“

Felix interrupted him impatiently. “That works both ways.” He kisses Sylvain softly, his actions at odds with his rough tone, cupping his cheek.

When they part, Sylvain’s eyes are bright as he studies Felix for a moment. “How do you feel about going to Fhirdiad tomorrow and getting married, so there’s just us and our friends? They’re all there right now. I’d say we should just go the Fraldarius chapel and do it in the morning but Ingrid might actually kill us, and Annette would be sad to miss it.”

Felix thinks it over. “I like that idea,” he replies slowly. As happy – and as impatient – as he is to marry Sylvain, the pomp and ceremony that’s expected from people in their positions isn’t something he’s been looking forward to. A small ceremony sounds with the few people he actually likes sounds rather good. “When we get back here we can put on a feast and that will keep everyone happy.”

Sylvain grins and leans in to kiss him, soft and slow. “So, no flowers at the wedding?” He murmurs against Felix’s lips.

“No flowers,” Felix repeats quietly.

“Alright then, I’ll have to send a message first thing in the morning with a pegasus rider.”

“Why?”

“No flowers, but they can decorate with swords.”

Felix laughs. “I do have all those ceremonial swords the Professor gave me. I can finally put them to use.”

“She’s so strange,” Sylvain says fondly. “She kept giving me board games and handkerchiefs.”

They lapse into silence, and Felix begins to doze off, sleepy and content in Sylvain’s arms.

“I love you,” he mumbles. Felix never thought he’d be a person to say those words as often as he does, but he relishes each time he says it still, knowing how close he came to never speaking them, or having this happiness. Felix doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being grateful for the fact that he can say it as often as he wants, and what’s more, have it reciprocated.

Sylvain’s lips ghost over his cheek in a brief kiss. “I love you too, Felix.”

Felix falls asleep, resting against Sylvain. He can hear the steady beat of Sylvain’s heart under his ear, a comforting sound. And Felix’s own heart is free of secrets, and his chest is clear of roots and flowers.

Both of them breathe easy, and sleep well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The struggle to write this chapter was extremely real and I'm just glad I managed to finish it before the end of the year. Thank you all so much for reading! Sorry for the angst I put everyone through, I hope this chapter makes up for it.
> 
> Fic title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bKo9OH0liI).
> 
> Also, I am [flowerfuls](http://www.twitter.com/flowerfuls) on twitter, if you want to say hi.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd never even heard of hanahaki before I started reading fe3h fic. Genuine thank you to the fandom for all the good food.
> 
> This is mostly written, chapter number may go up or down a wee bit depending on how I end up splitting them.
> 
> (for anyone reading my Azure Moon Claudeleth fic, I am still working on it, I just needed a break and then... this happened.)


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